


Dearest Anthony

by preferredmethodofprocrastination



Category: Downton Abbey, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Everybody loves Peggy, F/M, INCREDIBLY POOR DECISIONS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 24,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preferredmethodofprocrastination/pseuds/preferredmethodofprocrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dearest Anthony,<br/>Your father’s sins are not your doing. They are not yours to worry about, but they are yours to learn from. He is a good man, but even his goodness is flawed, cracked, clouded. He loves you and I think he may even love me some days, good days. And Lord knows he loves her in a way you and I will never understand.<br/>He doesn't think I know about you, but I do. I know more than he cares to realize, and now that she is who she is, and he is who he is, and the world is set against them both, my fear is that you will find yourself caught between a rock and a hard place that you don't understand. Know, always, that we love you, no matter how messed up it is. Papa and I love you, and so does she. God in heaven she must love you so to have let you go, and in some way, she must love me, to have given me this chance to love you in her stead.<br/>Love,<br/>Mama</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistakes and Silk

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know if I need to do a disclaimer but better safe than sorry. I do not own any of the characters created by Marvel Comics or displayed in the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

**Peggy**

The tension in the air was as palpable as the silk of her dress. Howard had his steely gaze cast toward Maria and Maria's eyes were burning holes in Howard's suit jacket. Peggy could feel Mr. Jarvis's pained glances from the hall.

"Well, I think it is time for me to leave," she stood, clutching her bag. She needed to get out of the middle of Howard and Maria's... There were very few ways to put this situation and in her mind one of them was "impending divorce".

"Peggy, stay," Howard's growl caught her in her third step from the couch. Every muscle in her body tensed as she stood on one foot like a bloody flamingo. Her left foot was placed directly under her and the other was cocked onto its toe. Plain black heels, short enough that she _knew_ she could run a mile in them. The oak floor of the house creaked in complaint. Even the ground beneath her was trying to shift, to get out from under the storm of anger in the Stark household.

The room was rather plain. The living room. There were three chairs around a small table in the corner behind her and to the right. At center stage were the two high backed armchairs and the couch in an unfinished trapezoid of sorts. The Starks were across from one another in the armchairs and she had been sitting in the very center of the couch. She knew that every move she made when she entered the house that night was a political decision of massive proportion. Each of the Starks, Howard and Maria, was an atomic bomb, and one move towards one or the other would cause the opposite bomb to explode and take down the house.

"Howard, don't," Peggy's words were soft and gentle. She wanted to shout at them, that they were both being idiots.

"I think Margaret can do what she likes," the bomb had exploded. Peggy knew whose side she was on now. With prim courtesy, Maria had called her "Margaret". She was doomed now. Maria had her sights set on her.

"I said stay," the challenge was directed towards Maria, but Peggy was the one who answered it.

"I am not a dog, Howard Stark, you can't just tell me to stay and expect me to do it," the words came out spitting with anger.

"He thinks he can do anything he likes," every word that came out of Maria's mouth broke Peggy's heart and every syllable that passed Howard's lips made her broken heart bleed. The insults were coming thick and fast now, from both of them. The hateful sound of screaming filled her ears, nose, mouth, eyes. Every orifice on Peggy’s body was thick with the hate that boiled in the room. She was being drowned and burned in the hateful words of her friends.

"ENOUGH!" Peggy hardly recognized Mr. Jarvis's voice. It was loud, angry, and tearful beyond anything she had ever heard. There were tears of rage streaming down his face and he pointed a shaking finger at the staircase. "Mrs. Stark," he paused and dared her to answer. When no answer came he continued. "Go, upstairs to your room and go to sleep," she crossed her arms over her chest, defiant, until Mr. Jarvis did something unprecedented. He stormed over and grabbed her by the back of her dress. Three steps and he practically threw her at the staircase. She remained upright, but the message was clear, she was to go to bed right then and there, even if he had to carry her up himself. "Mr. Stark, I am going to go get the three of us drinks. By the time I get back with whatever bottles tickle my fancy, Miss Carter will have decided whether or not she intends on spending the night in a _guest room_." Peggy nodded. "And you will have apologized on behalf of your household for the abominable behavior you and your wife exhibited in front of her. I'm sure Mrs. Stark will have composed her own apology by tomorrow morning. Is that understood?" He waited. Peggy nodded again and Howard followed suit. There was a moment of quiet. A moment of stillness so deep that even the curtains froze.

"Well then..." Howard said softly. He shattered the pristine silence and scuffed his foot over the floor. For a split second, Peggy wasn't sure how to proceed. Her vision was swimming with hatred and a nauseating sadness that came with it. She could have killed him. She had her gun in her bag. She could have punched him, beaten him, given him a couple of bruises to learn how rude he was... only then she would have had to repeat the treatment with Maria, something she was not willing to do, out of love for both of them and her knuckles. She could have screamed at him, given him an earful. She could have done all manner of dreadful things.

"Do as he said or he'll kill you with the bottle," Peggy croaked.

"I'm sorry, that was rude of Maria to..." He didn't even get a chance to finish his sentence. Her left hand darted out and smacked into his right ear with tremendous force.

"Try again you self-centered idiot," he sat down hard, clutching the ear.

"Ouch!"

"I said try again, not complain," she sat down next to him and waited. "I have a whole other eardrum to pop if you don't get the message across in a way that would be pleasing to me and God and everybody."

"I'm sorry that we did that to you. It was rude and selfish of us both," Peggy sighed and relaxed back into the couch, the hate in the pit of her stomach unwinding bit by bit. The couch was soft and warm and she would gladly fallen asleep then and there if there was not business to attend to.

"You are forgiven," she sighed. Her sigh was a signal, one Howard knew well. It was their little private signal for “spill your guts”.

"She thinks we're having an affair," he leaned back onto his elbow and gazed absentmindedly at the portrait of the happy couple on the wall across from them. It was done on their wedding day, quickly, but in exquisite detail. Peggy remembered watching the painter over his shoulder and giggling when Howard stuck out his tongue as the poor fellow wasn't looking.

"Why on earth...?" She and Howard had been friends since the start of the American involvement in the war. Friends, and nothing more.

"Think of how much time we spend together, in and out of work. Honestly, it's not an unusual suspicion to have," she could imagine Maria searching for lipstick on Howard's face and sniffing for Peggy's perfume on his coat. What a torture that would be?

"I understand, but why would... What are you two fighting about and why am I still allowed in your house?" He shrugged. Mr. Jarvis entered stage left with two bottles, one of bourbon, the other vodka. He had three glasses in his other hand.

"Frankly, we're fighting about children, our arguments about you have been put on the back burner" he said, accepting the glass of bourbon with a little nod of thanks.

"Does she not want any?" Peggy accepted her glass and swirled the contents around in the bottom before taking a sip. It was good and strong, with a heavy woody undertone.

"No, she wants them," it was quick, snappy almost, Howard's answer.

"Then you don't want any?" Peggy asked.

"No, I want children, Peggy," Howard drank his bourbon like a shot and poured himself a third, a fourth, a fifth. Mr. Jarvis settled down into the armchair on stage left. He was comfortably close to the exit. "And before you ask, yes we have been trying," he didn't seem able to meet Peggy's gaze. He looked at everything; his feet, his tie, his empty glass, anything but Peggy's eyes.

"For how long?"

"Two years," Peggy swallowed hard at Howard’s answer.

"Christ, Howard," Peggy's shock brought back the horrible, guilt that made her sick to her stomach, simply from being there. "I'm sorry," she gulped. The palpable silence that followed was partially full of Howard staring at her. It wasn't really inappropriate. His gaze fell on her dress, on the scarlet silk cascade that flowed down over her legs and edge of the couch. She took another hasty swig of her drink.

"Will you be staying tonight, Miss Carter?" Mr. Jarvis said crisply, but with a warning undertone. He knew what grown people did in the dark, when the nights when they were lonely or drunk or both. He was no fool and Peggy knew she was about to be one.

"Yes, thank you," Howard took a few of the folds of her dress between his fingers and rubbed them together. Her eyes followed his to where Mr. Jarvis sat, perched like a nervous hawk on the edge of his chair. Perhaps he was wondering how many drinks Howard had consumed and how many, in turn, he had offered Peggy.


	2. An Inexorable Moment

**Howard**

The room about him was foggy. Jarvis was foggy too. Good old Ed, ever his partner in... Everything. He had had a lot of good times with Jarvis and Peggy. Jarvis was a friend to the end of time. His three piece suits and his steady hands could always be counted on in a moment of need. He had an excellent taste for wine and an even better sense of emotions, something Howard was not as well acquainted with. Jarvis knew when to hand a girl flowers and when to hand her tissues, Howard was more likely to kiss her at the wrong moment and get a smack.

  
Peggy was something ethereal that he couldn't quite grab onto. There he was, holding onto her, afraid that she would run away from him. He couldn't help but see Steve in her. He ran his fingers over and over the silk of her dress. It was gorgeous, her dress. Who was he kidding, Peggy was gorgeous. She always looked ready to step into a movie or into a fancy club. She could hold her own there too. She could hold her own anywhere. Her curls, her perfect lipstick, the curve of her hips, the loneliness that plagued her beautiful eyes… He wanted to caress her.

  
He knew better than to touch her first, though. The hand unoccupied with handling Peggy’s dress fluttered nervously on his knee.

  
“Jarvis, you can go get Peggy’s room ready now,” Peggy looked at him. Her gaze looked blank for a moment. He had a blissful moment of waiting to see how she would react to their being alone together.

  
“Is that alright with you, Miss Carter?” Jarvis asked, looking with disdain at Howard himself. He would have a lot to answer for from Jarvis if he did what his drunk self wanted him to do.

  
“Yes,” Peggy said after an inexorable moment. Jarvis opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something more, to urge them to think. Then with a shake of his head, he left them to whatever sins would come of their solitude together.

  
“Peggy.”

“I can tell what you want to do,” she whispered. Her eyes were fixed on the hand that fluttered on his knee.

“Do you want…?”

“Maybe, but Jarvis is like to kill us both in our sleep if we do this while we are drunk,” that produced a chuckle from both of them.

“I don’t think I could sleep with you sober,” he stood and downed another glass, vodka this time. He was glad he could hold his liquor because that stuff burned coming back up.

“I’ll try not to be insulted,” she smirked.

“It’s not that,” Howard mumbled.

“Then why wouldn't you be able to?” she was slightly offended then. He didn't need to make both of the most important women in his life insecure about themselves. That just wouldn't  
do.

“Because of social decency Peg! I sleep with you when I’m this drunk, I won’t remember it in the morning and neither of us has to feel like we betrayed Maria,” he slammed his glass down onto the table. It sloshed over his wrist.

“I love her, you know. As a friend,” Peggy wrapped her arms around Howard’s right and nestled her head into the crook of his neck.

“I love her as so much more than that,” Howard sighed heavily.

“Then why are we even considering this?” she asked, softly and slowly. She made sure to wrap her tongue around every word before it crossed her beautiful lips.

“Because I miss Steve, and you do too,” Howard said after a moment of thoughtfulness.

“Will this protect his memory?” Peggy asked.

“No!” Howard slurred.

“Then what will?” the kiss was sloppy. He could forgive that, they were both just drunk enough to kiss each other, so it wasn't a surprise. Howard pulled her close and kissed her. He wasn’t sure who tasted more like alcohol, him or Peggy. It was long, too. Long and warm and full of memory. He remembered Steve, golden and warm where Peggy was darker, warmer in a different way. She was so different, not better than Steve, but different. She was darker, with more inviting crevices. She was fuller too, she had the curves that some women lacked. She had the spark in her eyes. She had the sharp intelligence, quick as a whip, like Maria. He had the guilt to drive him onward.  
Howard moved from her lips and put his lips’ attention elsewhere. He eased his way down her neck,stopping at her collarbone simply to admire her.

“Howard, I don’t love you,” she sounded panicked. His hands were resting on the silk at her waist. She looked down at him with wide brown eyes and slightly parted wine colored lips. He was so drunk her face swam a little before his eyes.

“I don’t love you either. Love isn’t a prerequisite, honey,” she smiled.

“Good.”

"May I?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "Please," she moaned.


	3. Merry Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard brings presents and a message. Chief Thompson gives Peggy a mission.

**Peggy**

“Morning, Carter,” Thompson greeted her at the door, an unexpected luxury. Usually he only bothered her when he needed filing done, or, on very special occasions, when he needed her to go undercover.

“Morning,” she said shortly. He looked back at her, eyes a bit wider. “Sorry, didn’t sleep well,” he nodded and didn't ask further. He had grown to have a wavering respect for her. He would sometimes compliment her and even strike up meaningless small talk. Agent Sousa said he liked to brag about her skills behind her back.

“Got a fella keepin’ you up at night, Carter?” one of the fathead new agents said. Another wolf whistled as she walked past.

“No more than any of you have a woman keeping you awake at night,” she snapped back. That shut them up, apart from the comments about “that time of the month”. “What do you want, Thompson? I’m up to my ears in paperwork,” she draped her navy coat over the back of her chair and sat down heavily.

“Undercover op you won't be able to refuse,” he smiled. She returned the favor.

“Where am I going?” she pulled a couple of files from the pile and opened one up to begin making sure everything was in order.

“High class party. You have a target,” he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked towards his office. “You can pick up his file in my office once you finish that paperwork.”

“When is the party?” she asked, still concentrating more on the paperwork than on Jack.

“Six weeks, tomorrow,” he called. “Stark’s going, you could be his cousin or something. He’ll be your ride, the rest is in the file,” Peggy’s heart sank. She didn't want to talk to Howard and she definitely didn't want him to be her ride.

“Agent Smith,” Sousa hobbled through the door. 

“Yes, Agent Sousa,” he jumped to attention like the overeager sod he was. “Anything I can do to help you, sir?”

“Lunch order,” Sousa looked far too pleased with himself for her liking, but she smiled anyways. An hour into the copious paperwork, Howard staggered through the door with Mr. Jarvis in tow. They were carrying a load of cases, all marked with Howard’s Stark company logo. “What’s all that?” Sousa asked.

“Presents,” Howard laid one of the boxes carefully down on Agent Sousa’s desk. “Christmas is either very early or a few months late, see it how you like.”

“Weapons?” Agent Thompson poked his head out of his office.

“What else would I bring you as presents, other than good agents and a better security system?” Howard handed Chief Thompson a long box with his name on it.

“Fair enough, what’ve we got here?” he opened the box revealing a couple of layers of protective casing and a collapsable gun.

“Rifle,” Stark answered shortly. He put one of his boxes down and reached inside the Chief's box. With one hand he shook all the parts into place and then handed it off to a skeptical Chief Thompson.

“All right?”

“Shoots with ninety percent accuracy and exploding bullets,” Howard came over to Peggy’s desk and set down a small package. He patted it and gave her a look before going around to all the desks and leaving almost identical cubic packages. “The cubes are body armor, Merry Christmas,” he walked towards the lab with Jarvis and a few of his boxes still in his arms.

“He come around often?” Agent Smith asked. He knocked back the dregs of a cup of coffee and Peggy nodded.

“He’s sort of like the godfather nobody wanted,” Agent Sousa shrugged and pulled out of his box a small padded piece of something or other.

“He’s a good guy, I guess,” the Chief said.

“Yes, he is,” Peggy opened her box and examined its contents. Nail polish that, according to his instructions, was as hard as concrete, another tube of her lipstick brand, the knockout kind, and a bottle of non weaponized perfume that looked and smelled like it cost a fortune. Attached it had a little note written on Stark stationary that read

_ Peggy, _

_ If I upset you or hurt you please tell me. You're one of three people in this world who can stand me and I pay Jarvis and Maria is probably going to divorce me. I don't want you to run off, Peg. I remember that night and I assume you do too, and I regret every second. It’s been eating me up and I need to speak to you about it. It's true that I've never wanted any part of romance with you but I was drunk on anger, bourbon, and you, and I made a mistake. Actually, we made a mistake together. I'd take all the blame, but it takes two to tango, Peggy. _

_ Your friend, _

_ Howard Stark _

She looked it over twice, took a deep breath and continued with her paperwork. Afterwards she grabbed the file off of the Chief's desk and perused it with information about her target. Amadeo Morelli. He was a criminal and no mistake. A gangster with murder, drugs, and smuggling painted all over his record, not to mention a few counts of assault, sexual or otherwise. He apparently like variety in his criminal activity. He seemed to be trafficking in expensive art at that point in time. He was stealing priceless art and leaving behind a copper bullet wherever he went. Peggy wasn't quite sure why this was the SSR's territory but she didn't ask. She flipped over the page and came to a sudden realization. On the page was printed her victim-to-be's personal affiliations. Beneath the column that said "partners" was a list of women who could have been her doppelgangers.

"Thompson." She called. He eased his way out of his office and sat on the edge of her desk. "The descriptions of his partners," she pointed to their pages. Brown hair, brown eyes, British. Brown hair, brown eyes, British. Brown hair, brown eyes, British. Brown hair, brown eyes, British. Brown hair, brown eyes, British.

"Yes?" Thompson knew what she was going to ask him, but she still apparently had to do it.

"They are all young British women," she said in a soft voice.

"Fitting your description," he said as if he didn’t care. It was infuriating.

"So I'm bait,"she said a bit louder. Agent Sousa looked over and frowned concernedly.

"No, Carter, you are not bait. This is your mission. Women like you are his weakness. Wear a pretty dress, hand him a drink, get him alone and bam.” Peggy wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or insulted. She didn’t need it spelled out for her and she was perfectly capable of killing a man without seducing him. As “seducing” was the path the Chief wanted her to take, she would seduce anyway, albeit reluctantly.

“I know how to seduce a man,” she carefully packed up and closed her little box from Howard. She folded the note and stuck it in her purse.

“I trust you do,” he said. Every word that came out of his mouth made her furious. Every inch of him made her want to smack him into next week.

“Boss?” Daniel saved her. He called Thompson over to look at some meaningless paperwork and left her alone. It wasn’t until after lunch, which she didn’t touch, that he came to talk to her. 

“What do you want, Daniel?” she grumbled as he pulled his chair over to her desk. He eased down into it and leaned his aluminium crutch against the cherry colored wood of her desk.

“Just to talk, take a break,” the rest of the room was practically empty and the Chief was locked in his office, taking an afternoon siesta.

“I don’t want to talk, I have...” he cut her off mid sentence.

“Finished all your paperwork and haven’t touched your lunch. You look worried,” he leaned in close and she leaned back, countering the action. He was kind and good, Daniel, but she knew that intimacy with friends was a mistake. That’s all Daniel was, a friend.

“I’m fine,” she turned to her desk and began fiddling with a few stray papers.

“Which, to any man worth their salt is code for “I’m not alright at all,”,” he put his hand on hers.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, trying to swallow the horrifying nausea that crept from the pit of her stomach. Her breathing grew quicker. The presence of his hand felt foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. She placed her other hand over the one he put on hers.

“Anything I can do to help?” He asked. His dark eyes were full of a concern he managed to keep from the rest of his face.

“Not really,” she hiccuped. There was a little ball of terror and stress forming in her gut. She was on the precipice before the open ocean, one misstep and she would fall onto the rocks below.


	4. Truth and Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jarvis and Howard discuss.

**Howard**

“What were you thinking?” Jarvis said as they sat in the car. It had been two weeks and Peggy hadn’t so much as looked at him. The box had been placed on her desk. He had made sure of it, done it himself. Her face was paler than usual. She looked sad and alone, huddled at her desk over a stack of paperwork. More and more and more paperwork. That wasn’t how Peggy was meant to be. She was supposed to run around causing trouble and beating up people who assumed because she wore a dress and heels, she couldn't do them any harm.

“I was sick of Maria ignoring me,” he turned the wheel sharply, knocking Jarvis into the car door on the passenger side. Jarvis ignored the act of malice, righted himself and asked him another question.

“Did you do it for the satisfaction?” his jaw was set, his eyes burning with contempt. They were fearsome when he was mad, Jarvis’ eyes. They were cold and steely but they burned all the same, like hoarfrost rather than fire.

“There are very few other reasons I would sleep with my best friend in the entire world, Ed,” he growled, turning onto an empty country road. They bumped along. He wanted to go somewhere quiet to shout at Jarvis.

“For the satisfaction of getting back at Maria, you idiot? Did you do it to make a fool of her?” Jarvis methodically brushed nothing off of the dashboard of the car.

“I didn’t premeditate any of it! I wasn’t trying to prove Maria right! I just...” he trailed off. His rage was making the edges of his vision go red and he didn't want to crash the car.

“Wanted to be an idiot,” Jarvis finished.

“You could say that,” Howard grumbled.

“She’s going on a mission in a few weeks. The party at the Onyx Club. You’re her ride according to the file,”  Jarvis had looked through SSR files without permission. He usually only did that on Howard’s orders. Maybe Howard and Peggy together had snapped something in him.

“Six weeks away,” he had seen the file too.

“At least by then you’ll know if there are any unexpected consequences to your drunken escapades,” Jarvis looked out the window, turning his cold angry eyes away from his employer.

“There won’t be,” he said.

“She’s a woman, you are a man, don’t be so sure,” Jarvis scoffed.

“I have been trying for two years to get my wife pregnant. One night with Peggy isn’t going to do it,” Jarvis was silent. He knew Howard’s and Maria’s plight. He knew every argument intimately. Peggy was his best friend, but Jarvis was his only confidant. Did it say something about him that the only person he could rely upon to talk to him and keep his secrets was his employee?

“Whatever you say, Mr. Stark,” Jarvis, then, didn’t think that Howard was at fault for his and Maria’s shortcomings as far as children were concerned. He shook his head. Fault wasn’t the right word. He didn’t blame her for the things she couldn’t control.


	5. Amadeo Morelli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy meets Amadeo Morelli. Maria remains blissfully ignorant.

The dress was one of her gaudier possessions. It was collected just below her bust with a rope of black pearls. The skirts were navy blue and flowing, thankfully not highlighting any visible signs of her weapons, or her sin. The top was silver samite that exposed her shoulders and enough of her cleavage that seducing her target would be easy.

“Peggy?” Howard knocked at her door. She had been ready for an hour, but she made him wait a moment before answering the door.

“Hello, Howard,” she said courteously. He bowed mockingly back at her.

“Miss Carter,” Jarvis stepped out from behind him just as Howard said the words.

“ _ Agent _ Carter, Howard, you know better,” she glided out the door. The dress gave the illusion of grace despite any stumbling she might have done. The heels were killing her feet.  She turned about and closed the door, careful that the string was on the latch. “And tonight, my name isn’t Peggy.”

“Please tell me I don’t have to call you...” Howard complained as they walked to the car.

“I’m Margaret,” she smiled widely.

“Margaret,” he finished with a roll of his eyes. He got into the passenger seat and Jarvis opened the door to the back. Maria sat there, her black hair streamed down her shoulders in strands like rivulets of tar. 

“You look beautiful,”  Maria said with a kind smile. Peggy had curled her own hair so it was just above her shoulders and Maria tugged gently on one of her tresses.

“Thank you, you look exquisite,” Maria wore a white dress. It was long and flowing, gathered at the waist, highlighting Maria’s slender form. “Call me Margaret tonight,” she placed her hand on Maria’s knee.

“Who are you killing?” Maria knew that Peggy only went to parties with them on missions, despite numerous past invitations.

“A thug,” Peggy sat up straighter. The club was in sight, a great dark building that was hard to see for all the cars gathered around it. 

“Am I allowed to know his name?” they got out of the car and walked to  the doors where they were greeted by a smartly dressed valet-type who took their coats.

“No, sorry, classified.”

“I’m sorry, I just want to avoid him,” Maria hooked her arm through Peggy’s and put on her best diplomat’s wife smile. Howard wasn’t a diplomat, but the same principle applied to him and his because he supplied weapons, which was just as controversial, if not more so, as some politicians.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me,” the music was loud enough to drive any sane person mad, but then, no one seems completely sane when they are intoxicated. Everywhere there were women in beautiful dresses and men in finely tailored suits. The wine was flowing like water and the very smell of it, in combination with sweat and all the other smells of humanity, turned Peggy’s stomach. She scanned the crowd for her target and instead found Daniel Sousa, sipping a glass of an expensive, dry, red. “Hello, Daniel,” she said in a falsely friendly tone. Maria had gone off to dance with Howard and so she was free of any concern about her. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He was wearing his full military uniform, it was dusky in color and smelled fresh enough. His medals were displayed proudly on the left side of his chest.

“Did you really think Chief would send you in here without backup?” He took a sip of his wine. “Especially when a man like Amadeo Morelli is involved,” he looked pointedly at a corner of the room where Amadeo Morelli himself sat. He had cold, dark eyes and a dark complexion. He looked almost handsome in his suit, but menacing with the enormous men that stood on either side of him.

“Don’t drink too much,” she whispered to Daniel. She straightened her dress and walked towards Morelli. She puffed out her chest, put on a smile and a flirty attitude that she would no sooner truly use than she would eat broken glass.

“Hello gorgeous,” one of the thugs at Morelli’s elbow said.

“Hello boys,” she purred. As an afterthought, she sat down across from Morelli and leant forward, exposing the pale skin, untouched by her dress, to him. She bit her lip and batted her lashes. “Which one of you is going to get me a drink?” she could watch Amadeo’s pupils widen and his mouth curve into a wicked grin.

“Lagassi, get the lady a drink,” he snapped his fingers and one of the thugs trotted off. “Amadeo Morelli,” he offered a hand and she placed her hand tenderly in his. He kissed it and she blushed forcibly. “What is your name, beautiful lady?”

“Margaret Taylor,” she slid her fingers between his and pulled his hand to her. He wore a ring on each finger and two on his right pointer finger. They were gold, silver, platinum, with jewels inlaid and tiny letters carved into them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She kissed his hand and released his hand, close to her chest, allowing it to linger there.

“Would you like to sit a little bit closer?” he dragged a finger slowly up her throat, which made her shiver, and then down to dance over her collarbone. She gave a little satisfied noise just as Lagassi came back with her drink in hand. She scooted herself towards his and he pulled her onto his lap. She tried to hide her discomfort at their proximity, draping her left arm around Morelli’s neck. She hadn’t been this close to anyone, in this way, since the night Howard had gotten her pregnant. With her right hand she took a sip of her sweet, fruity drink.


	6. The Sick Pink Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy's drink and what that entails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To preface this I will say that yes, Amadeo Morelli does drug Peggy.

**Howard**

“I want to keep an eye on her,” he whispered to Maria.

“I know. I’m worried about her too,”  she laid her head on his shoulder as they spun slowly. He loved how Maria smelled. She smelled like pepper, sharp and wonderful. Her dark hair spun around with them. “I’m afraid he’ll do something foul to her.”

“Well, she has three guardians today,” he kissed his wife’s cheek. “Agent Sousa is watching her like a hawk,” he had tipped his hat to Sousa upon their entrance. He liked Daniel well enough, but he knew the poor man cared for Peggy in a way that, did he have the choice, would be more than friendly. As he seemed to have accepted the unlikeliness of that, he kept to the shadows, and cared in the ways that friendship allowed.

“And so are we,” Maria comforted him, running her fingers through his hair. He shuddered when she did that and she smiled playfully. “I don’t know why I ever suspected you two,” she kissed him quickly on the lips. “You’re more her brother than her lover,” Howard gulped and watched Peggy’s foul companion drag her onto his lap. There was a lull in the music and Howard could hear her laugh sing across the room. It was like a bell.

“Mr. Stark, is it?” Sousa interrupted them. “I was wondering if you’d like to have a drink with me?” his urgent tone let Howard know this was not truly a social experience. He wanted to tell him something.

“Of course,” he said. “Have you met my wife?” while they walked over to get drinks Sousa introduced himself to Maria and vice versa. 

“You know, when that man over there walked past with whatever concoction his lady was drinking, it smelled like absolute heaven, can I have three?” Sousa said cheerfully. The bartender fidgeted uneasily. Howard’s stomach rose into his throat.

“Something wrong?” Maria sang cheerfully, checking over her shoulder for Peggy and looking back again.

“Did you drug her drink?” Howard felt stormclouds rising in his heart. 

“No. I saw him put it in,” he hung his head, ashamed. Howard had half a mind to get the bartender fired and make sure he never got a job again.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” Howard hissed.

“They come here all the time, if I report them I get killed in my sleep,” Howard wanted to spit on him, to stab him with a broken glass. Howard hated this coward for saving his own skin at the expense of Peggy's life.

“How long till she’s out?” Howard groaned.

“Ten minutes, max. I saw a woman last twelve once, she had the alcohol tolerance of a Russian drunk with vodka for blood,” Howard’s blood turned cold and he could see Agent Sousa reaching for his gun. Maria’s hand reached out and stopped him before he could draw.

“Don’t do anything to arouse their suspicions, otherwise we’ll get her killed,” her voice was measured and calm. Howard felt anything but. There was panic rising in his chest and he couldn't see straight. They turned towards Peggy and over all three of them came the sickening realization that Morelli’s thugs were alone at the table, and there was less than half of the drugged drink left in the glass.

“Only if she’s not already dead,” Howard grimaced.

“Sorry,” the bartender was nervously reorganizing glasses on top of the bar. “He won’t kill her. That’s not his MO with ladies like her.” He looked up at Howard with a pained expression. “Better start the clock. I’d have given her six minutes by the way she looked from here. It’s been about two minutes.” The sod didn't say a word out loud after that, but Howard could hear the "good luck" in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He may drug her, but the bastard doesn't live to tell the tale.


	7. The Death of Mars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW Morelli does try to do horrible things to Peggy. I will spoil it, the bastard doesn't get anywhere, or do anything other than ruin Peggy's dress, and he's dead as a door nail by the end of the chapter.

The drink was, frankly, foul. It was thick and sweet, but with a bitter aftertaste that made her head ache. It also made her want to vomit, but then again, most everything made her want to hurl since she had slept with Howard.

“Would you like to move somewhere more comfortable, my sweet lady?” his hands were all over her. She knew his intentions, and she had her own. Alone was exactly where she wanted him. He kissed her, a light peck on her lips. It left a slight stain from her lipstick. A pink shadow of her presence there.

“Of course,” she braced herself against that back of the chair, arching her back slightly. She threw her head back and giggled. “Only if you’re sure you’re ready,” she bit her lip. He stroked his fingers up her sides and then back down to caress the curve of her hip. He kissed her again, this time, longer, deeper.

“Boys, stay here,” he ordered, he lifted her to her feet. He stood, towering over her and took her arm. He was taller than Mr. Jarvis, an impressive height, nearly two meters. They walked across the dancefloor and Peggy nearly tripped. She felt clumsy, heavy, tired. She had been feeling that way lately, but because of her mistake with Howard, not a drink and a dance. Before she really knew what was happening they were in a little side room. She sat down on a big stuffed armchair and he sat on the bed.

“What happens now?” she asked. Her fingers clasped the knife in her garter belt.

“You fall asleep,” he grinned wickedly. His white teeth flashed menacingly.

“You drugged me,” she muttered, shaking her head in feigned disbelief. She wasn't surprised, nor was she unconcerned, if not for herself, then for Howard finding her in some stage of miscarriage on the floor next to a dead man. The room around her wobbled slightly as Amadea Morelli rose again, towering like some Roman deity. He was tall and dark and menacing. Peggy imagined him in a toga with a chariot beneath his feet. Did he not look like Mars, god of war? A sword in his hand and a crown on his brow could not make him more like the violent, bad tempered, god. She stood and raised her chin. The knife was clutched in her fist, tucked in a fold of her dress so it was invisible to him. “How dare you?” she said. She punctuated each word with meaning and emotion befitting a Roman Lay. He moved one step closer to her, just enough to be within her reach. His hands reached around and ripped open the clasps that held the back of her dress together. He leered at her, and she simply smiled back.

With one quick motion and she stabbed and twisted the knife into the back of his neck, right between two of his vertebrae. He tumbled lifeless to the ground. He was only mortal, after all, not Mars. Peggy stumbled backwards into the chair. The top of her dress was spattered with red... red.... red…….. red.


	8. No Honor Among Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy is found, unharmed. Daniel cleans up. Miriam worries.

“Peggy?” the room that they found her in was small. It had a persian carpet and a four poster bed with silk sheets. Peggy sat in an armchair and looked at the knife in her hands. There was blood splattered minimally. The most blood, however, was gathered in a small divot in the neck the late Mr. Morelli, made presumably by Peggy’s knife. She didn't look unconscious, but she was definitely not fully awake either. It had been fifteen minutes since the first fateful sip of her drink. The back of her dress had been torn open and Maria slipped her shawl over Peggy’s shoulders.

“He drugged me. Criminals these days have no honor,” she rubbed her eye with her right hand, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. All four of them smiled. “Maria, will you help me to the loo? I think I’m going to be sick,” the way to the “loo” was not in the sight of Morelli’s thugs, thank heaven, and so Howard helped Peggy and Maria out the door of the little room before turning back to Agent Sousa.

“Body?” He asked, looking with considerable distaste at the body of the low down dirty scum of the earth lying prone on the floor.

“Leave it,” he said, pulling a tiny kit from a hidden pocket in his uniform. “I’ll clean up.” Howard obeyed, but only after watching him carefully ease down onto his knees, his false leg making him wince a few times on the way down. He made a mental note to try and get his measurements for a brace of some kind, the crutch looked horribly uncomfortable and ungainly. “Take care of her, Stark,” Sousa ordered.

“I’ll get her back to her apartment,” he promised. “Call me when you’re done so I know you don’t need help.” Sousa nodded and went back to cleaning blood from the Persian rug. They took her home while Morelli’s thugs were occupied drinking. Sousa called him later. Maria sat in the back, Peggy’s head in her lap while she slept.

“I’ll go up with her,” Maria whispered. Peggy was groggy, but awake, by the time they got through the Friday night New York traffic.

“I don’t think Miriam would let you up if you were the coroners and I was dead,” Peggy’s small smile and little joke made them all laugh. They did accompany Peggy to the lobby. Miss Fry was at her desk and gasped a little when Peggy came into sight. Despite her expulsion from the Griffith on one occasion, Peggy had somehow charmed her way back in, with Angie in tow. Miriam was quite protective of “her Peggy”.

“My lord,” she whispered.

“I fell, Miriam,” Miriam looked pale as death, and Peggy didn't look much better. Angie stood up from one of the lounge chairs and darted over to help Maria in Howard’s stead.

“What happened?” she asked Jarvis, avoiding eye contact with Howard. She loved Peggy again, but hated Howard. The way she saw it, anything Peggy had done wrong in the past was entirely his fault.

“She fell.” Jarvis parroted Peggy obediently. He knew better than to say much more.


	9. Cinnamon and Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie comforts Peggy.

**Peggy**

“Don’t give me whatever baloney Stark and Butler are giving Miriam, what happened?” Angie was furious and confused. Peggy sat up against her floral wallpaper with a cup of tea and a blanket. “English?” she said sternly when Peggy didn’t answer.

“Mobster,” Peggy mumbled, brushing aside one of her loose curls.

“What?” Angie asked. She was incredulous and confused.

“I had a hit job. It was on an Italian mobster who, conveniently enjoys the company of young brunettes of the British persuasion,” Peggy said.

“A hit job? You...” she stopped, leaned closer and finished “... you killed someone?”

“Yeah, and he deserved it, honestly. He drugged me and got me into a back room...” Peggy drew her legs further under her and huddled further under her blanket.

“God, Peg.” Angie covered her mouth, a look of shock and horror covering her beautiful face.

“He ripped my dress open, and that was as far as he got.” Peggy waved away Angie's look of concern.

“He ripped that dress?” Angie sidled up to Peggy and fondled the material of her dress. She found the torn clasps on the back and sighed. “He did deserve it,” she said with absolute conviction. That made Peggy laugh, however weakly. “You probably want to go to sleep, I’m sorry!”

“No!” Peggy barked before Angie could get a foot away from her. “Stay,” Angie settled back down beside Peggy.

“Are you afraid of anything?” they were horizontal, curled up, nose to nose. Angie smelled like cinnamon and coffee. Peggy smelled like booze, sweat, and tea.

“Yes,” Peggy twined her fingers through Angie’s. “Lots of things.”

“Don’t leave me hanging, English. What?” Angie moved even closer to Peggy, hardly possible at all, so close was their propinquity. Peggy had her left hand draped over her stomach, the other was all wound up in Angie’s. She felt better than she had when she had walked in, but it was three in the morning, closer and closer drew the time when, like clockwork, her body rejected any nutrients from the previous night.

“Italian mobsters who aren’t dead. You getting fired for some trivial reason. Someone bombing the Griffith. Someone kidnapping Howard, you, Anna, Edwin. Someone destroying the SSR from the inside out. Someone finding Steve’s body. Someone finding Steve alive in some freezing wasteland and turning him into a weapon against the US. Same with Bucky...” she trailed off. There was a long list of things she was afraid of.

“Peggy, none of those are fears about you,” Angie pressed her forehead to Peggy’s and, against Peggy’s iron will, she began to cry.

“I know,” she sobbed. There was an ache in her chest that was from emotions she didnt want, from hormones that were driving her crazy, from her married best pal’s baby growing inside her. What sort of mess had she gotten herself into?

“The list would be miles and miles,” Angie whispered into Peggy’s hair. She pulled her closer and closer. Her arm wrapped around Peggy’s waist and stroked the silk that covered her hip. “Shhhhhh,” she tried to quiet Peggy’s sobs. Peggy buried her face in Angie’s crisp uniform and breathed in and out, forcing herself to stop for a minute, only to break down again.

“Angie, I have to get out of here,” she muttered.

“What do you mean, sugar?” Angie asked.

“I have to leave, soon,” she turned her back to Angie, still close to her, still warm and in contact with her torso.

“You don’t have to leave, Peg. No one’s going to make you,” Angie’s words broke her heart. She did have to leave, if nothing else, for the sake of her friends. Howard’s marriage was just getting back on its feet, she couldn't knock them back into the dirt. Angie would be supportive, Miriam, not quite as much, and the other SSR agents would take this as an excuse to put her on desk duty forever.

_ No,  _ Peggy thought.  _ I’m going to make myself go. It’ll be the hardest thing I ever do. _


	10. She's Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy is gone. The crew reacts.

**Howard**

“Howard?” Angie’s voice, shrill on the phone, was a little more than concerning.

“What is it, Angie?” he ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. The previous days events had left their small circle rattled even more than, perhaps, Morelli’s confused circle. They were being picked off one by one by the police as the night had gone on and the front page was “Notorious Gangster Amadeo Morelli Killed Last Night at High Profile Party”. Peggy had done her job and received no recognition as the SSR wasn't even given a passing remark.

“It’s Peggy, she’s packed up and left,” his heart stopped.

“What do you mean?” he choked.

“She’s gone. Not a trace of her in the Griffith,” Angie sounded panicked.

“Did she say anything?” he asked, waving Jarvis over. “Peggy’s gone,” he informed him. Jarvis’s face dropped. He began wringing his hands and breathing more heavily than usual.

“No, but there’s a letter here for you, and one for your wife and Miriam and Mr. Jarvis...” she trailed off. He could hear her shuffling through the letters.

“I’ll be there in ten,” he growled.

“It’s nine in the morning, it’s rush hour! You can’t get anywhere in ten minutes!”

“I will be there in ten minutes,” he hung up the phone and turned to the dining room where Maria sat. Her toast was untouched and her eyes were full of tears.

“Maria,” he crooned.

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Maria was pale as milk, her fingers clutching the butter knife in anger and desperation.

“She’s not at the Griffith,” he walked over and settled onto his knees beside her. He eased the knife out of her hand.

“You go to the SSR, I’ll check the Griffith with Mr. Jarvis,” she said, straightening her back and wiping away a stray tear. His proud lovely Maria. He knew better than to defy her order.

“Yes, ma’am,” he kissed her cheek and obeyed.


	11. Sweet, Sweet Daniel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy says goodbye to an un-chosen few.

**Peggy**

“Peggy,” she was almost out the door when Daniel stopped her. “Where you headed?” She had just dropped off her filled out form for compassionate leave. He would accept her lie, even if he didn’t believe it. It said  her father was sick, and that she had to go manage his affairs while he recovered, or tie up loose ends if he passed. As far as she knew, from his last letter just at the end of the war, her father was fit as a fiddle and going nowhere soon. That was nearly ten years ago, things could have changed. She knew lying on the papers was wrong but she needed to keep her personal moral record relatively clean in the eyes of the SSR, which she couldn’t accomplish as a single pregnant woman, or mother, in a tough field of  “man’s work”.

“Back to the Griffith, I’m afraid,” she said, trying to sound as cheerful and unrattled as possible. She pulled her coat further around herself and turned to him. He smiled. Sweet, sweet Daniel.

“You look better,” he pushed one of her curls back into place behind her ear. “Much better.”

“Thank you, Daniel, now I really must be off,” her stomach rolled because she hadn’t written him a letter. She didn’t have the time. She had a plane to catch. Angie had left her room in the night, she didn’t know when, but she had packed her clothes and valuables and booked a plane ticket for the UK. Home. She was going home.

“Alright, see you soon then?” The hopeful little tremble in his voice shattered her heart once more.

“Of course,” she said, choking the words out. She stepped through the door to the “phone company” and closed it behind her. Rose looked at her and frowned.

“You okay, Peggy?” she asked. She took her headset off and smiled sadly at Peggy.

“Not really, but I can manage,” she put a hand on Rose’s shoulder.

“Goodbye,” Rose understood this. The subtleties of Peggy’s farewell were clear to her. “Don’t miss us too much,” Peggy forced herself not to cry. She wouldn’t cry here. She could cry plenty when she was home.


	12. In Case It Was Unclear

**Howard**

_Dear Chief Thompson,_

_I regret to inform you that my father has taken ill and, after the events of my mission, I realize how important it is that his affairs be in order in the case of his passing, or mine. He has only me and he is my only family left and I need to be with him while I can. I will return to the SSR as soon as it is possible and hope that I will be welcomed back. All of the paperwork is in order._

_Thank you,_

_Agent Margaret Carter_

Thompson had thrown the letter at him.

“The mission went almost as planned,” he growled. “Apart from her getting drugged, which couldn’t have been prevented without blowing her cover,” he paced the length of his office irritably. “I don’t, for a second, believe that her father isn’t well.”

“I do, I thought I heard her say something,” Maria had joined them after picking up their letters from Angie.

“Well, what are we going to do?” Sousa’s agitation was clear.

“Leave her bloody well alone,” Jarvis’s voice came after almost a full minute of uneasy silence.

“You suggest that we don’t contact her?” Thompson poured himself a drink and offered one to his guests, who each in turn said “No, thank you.” Sousa looked like he needed a drink, but didn’t accept the Chief’s offer of one.

“She’s upset. Give her space. Let her make the first contact,” he left the office and headed out of the SSR. He had been moody and quiet since _the night_ and didn't appear to be willing to stop then. More often than not he had his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl that could frighten the devil plastered across his face.

“I think it’s a fair idea, actually,” Maria said. “Maybe she just needs a little bit of space.”

They left the SSR a somber pair. Maria leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed heavily as Jarvis drove them home. She actually fell asleep, a miracle of sorts. She had slept well the previous night and long into that day. Peggy’s absence made him feel tired too, so he understood. He teased his finger under the edge of the envelope and tore it open. On the back of the envelope flap were the words of warning “Read When Alone” in Peggy’s neat cursive script. He was alone, relatively. He slid out the letter.

_Howard,_

_My father isn’t sick. I had to come to terms with some things last night and the consequences of our late night bedroom rendezvous was one of them. I need to get away to preserve some of my dignity and make sure that I don’t have you wearing a scarlet letter for the rest of your life. Maria won’t know, and you can go on loving her and forgetting me. If you want to contact me get at my military file. I know you have a copy. My home address is there. I’ll be staying with my father._

_Peggy_

_PS: In case it was unclear, I’m pregnant, Howard._

Even in writing, he could hear her voice… miffed. He thought she would sound miffed. He read the last line seven times before he slipped the letter back in the envelope and slid it inside his jacket. He had been ready to be a father for two years, maybe longer. Now that it was on the way, he had to deal with the confusion of being the father of a child who was not Maria’s. What kind of husband was he? What kind of friend was he?


	13. Lady Margaret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy goes home.

“Well knock me over with a feather...” one of the women in the square said. Her mouth was wide open. “If it isn’t her!” All eyes were on her the moment the woman’s words crossed her lips. Peggy recognized her, actually, one of the women who had lived in the village all her life. 

“Hello, Mabel,” Peggy said, nodding her head towards the woman, who in return, bowed. “How are you today?”

“I’m fine, Lady Margaret,” she hadn’t been called that in a long time. Lady Margaret Cartrette. She had her residence on of course, the isle itself, but it was rather easy to be in the small town on the mainland where the Cartrette family made their smaller home.

“She hasn’t been here since the war started,” Another woman whispered.

“She ran off and joined the French Resistance, right Mum?” Her little boy said, with the loud insensitivity of an inexperienced child.

“Yes, then the British army, then the people that made Captain America,” a man peeked from behind his newspaper to dole out the information.

“She’s been in America since,” another member of the crowd said.

“I can’t believe she’s back,” a mousy brown woman, maybe in her forties, muttered in disbelief. Her thick french accent marked her out among the crowds of English men and women around her. She hurried towards the absolutely gargantuan stone building that constituted the “small” mainland Cartrette house.

“Peggy,” she whispered. She had caught up to Peggy and right beside her, Peggy looked over.The brown eyes of her old friend stared back at her.

“Melanie?” Peggy dropped her cases to the pavement with a smack loud enough to be a gunshot. God willing one of her guns hadn’t actually discharged. She wrapped her arms around the little Frenchwoman who had been her friend and comfort on many an occasion. “Oh my god, is it good to see you,” Melanie kissed her on each cheek, beaming.

“Your father will be so pleased to see you,” she stroked her hand down the sleeve of Peggy’s business suit. It was tweed, plain, with a white blouse underneath. It was neat and tidy, not a wrinkle in sight. Peggy knew her father would still be horrified at the sight of her in common clothes.

“Not in this he won’t,” she tugged her skirt down. She hadn’t yet run into the enormous problem of her clothes not fitting. It would be an absolute terror trying to hide her growing size from her father, but less so than hiding from the other SSR agents. Intimate relations out of wedlock were against her father’s moral code. And a child? He might disinherit her on the spot and kick her out. Only, unless her brother and her male cousins magically sprung from their graves, he had no other heirs. She was his only option, just as he was hers.

“Well you couldn’t just stop rebelling immediately, could you now?” Melanie smiled. Peggy shook her head in answer. If only she knew... Melanie took one of Peggy’s cases and they walked, arm in arm, down the cobblestone road that led to Peggy’s home. The gate creaked open with a firm shove from Melanie’s hip and back closed again with a gentle push from Peggy.

“Lady Margaret?” a shaky voice called from the front door of the Cartrette house. A little old man hobbled out of the door as fast as he could.

“Fletcher, is that you?” his wrinkled face broke into a smile brighter than the sun. Fletcher had been her father’s butler for thirty years. He was one of the few men in the country who could stand her father’s company for long. His beady blue eyes peered at her from a distance before he continued towards her. She stopped to let him examine her and he tutted. “Is it the clothes?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t care less,” even his voice shook. He gathered her into his arms as he had done so many times. He was tiny and withered, but he still smelled like her house, like her home. He had put up with her family for three generations and watched far too many Cartrettes die in the wars. He had written her in a panic when she had run away to join the French resistance. He had ordered her to come home, that she was never to leave his sight like that again, that she had been a stupid young lady and that her father missed her very much. She hadn’t had the heart to answer it. “Your father will stand it because I do.” A young footman who Peggy remembered vaguely. He was about her age. Jackson was his name. He took her cases and eyed her curiously.

“I suppose we should have  them, shouldn’t we?” Her father’s voice echoed from the library. Lord Philip Charles Augustin Guillaume Cartrette had been a rebel of his time. He was a loyal man to God and country, and to all the people that were his staff and his friends, but he had one breach of etiquette that had nearly cast him out of English high society, and French too for that matter. 

He had married a woman from London, and not a London lady or dame or even some daughter of a third daughter’s second son. She had been entirely common. From that minute onward, he had had to apologize, beg, wheedle, and “tradition” his way back into favor with the crowds of nobles and politicians who were all the friends he knew. She had, however, borne him a son. That gained her some favor in the eyes of family and political allies. Not long after she gave him his little girl, Margaret, at the cost of her life. 

“Fletcher, if you disagree, you can’t just remain silent, old chap. You have to tell me why...” Philip's eyes came to rest on his daughter. He looked her over with his grey-green eyes and sighed. “Hello,” he dropped his eyes to the floor, refusing to look at her. She had remembered leaving. She had given him no address, no way to contact her. He had found her near the end of the war, through the war office, to inform her of her brother’s death. She had missed the funeral and they had no correspondence since.“I thought you were never coming back,” when his eyes met hers again, there were tears in them.

“Why wouldn’t I have come back?” Peggy was fighting back her own tears. When she had run off she had been angry. She had been sick to death of being waited on and pampered and told she was too young for one thing and too old for another. She had stormed up to her room, packed her bags, and left in the dead of night. She had shouted a fair few cruel things at him before she left.

“Because you hated me,” his lip quivered. His hands reached up to cover his face and Fletcher left the room. He knew better, both as butler and friend, to interfere in this encounter. “You said you were never coming back, and that you never wanted to see me again,” now her tears were really there. They ran down her cheeks in hot, terrified rivulets. Her father never cried. 

“I’m sorry,” she moved closer to him and they embraced. “I didn’t mean a word of it,” she mumbled. He held her head and neck, like she was an infant, fragile and soft.

“How long will you be staying?”His voice wavered.

“I don’t know,” she knew her news would break his heart.


	14. Queen Victoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard looks at Peggy's file.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon me, I created a backstory for Peggy forever ago.

**Howard**

Her military file wasn’t hard to get at. He had a copy. The names of her family, however, that was tricky business. She had a lot of family on her mother’s side, all listed deceased. Her cousins, her uncles, her aunts, they were all casualties of bombings and the front lines. They all had a different name than she did. Smith was listed over and over again and again until he found her father’s family line. She had a brother. He’d died in the war. Beside his given name, Harrison Augustin Guillaume, was the surname “Cartrette”.

“Jarvis?” he called. Edwin slid from the pantry, spice jar in hand, ready to do Howard’s bidding. “You know anyone by the name of Cartrette?”

“They’re a noble family, Normand descent.” he polished the jar with his sleeve and blew on it as a final touch. “They are a great family. Lots of land, lots of houses, a few war heroes, why?” Howard’s eyes followed the line down to where, in the family list provided, her saw the name Margaret. Only it wasn’t just Margaret. It was “Margaret Cartrette, Dame of the Isle of Saint Jean-Philippe”.

“Am I dreaming, or is that Peggy’s birthday?” Howard was checking all the facts, making damn sure this woman really was Peggy.

“Yes, that is Miss Carter’s birthday,” Jarvis glanced offhandedly at the paper and then did a double take. His eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. “You have got to be joking.”

“I don’t joke about this,”

“She’s THE Lady Margaret Cartrette?” if he had been drinking something, he would have spat it out all over the place.

“Apparently, heir to the title, Dame of Saint Jean-Philippe,” Howard smiled. Peggy was “Queen Victoria” after all.

“She ran away and joined… She couldn’t be found for the longest time… Saint Jean-Philippe isn’t a very big island...” Jarvis looked a mix between thrilled and horrified. “But she was the greatest scandal since I don’t know when!”

“Because she used a fake name,” Howard shook his head. The war office must have been absolute idiots if they couldn’t find her. She wasn’t exactly hiding.

“Her father is scary. I saw him once at the start of the first war. Formidable. Tall. He was muscular and he rode an enormous horse.”

“Well isn’t that lovely,” as if Howard needed another reason and means for Peggy to keep him away.

“What are you going to do?” Jarvis sighed. He rubbed a hand across his brow and began pulling his ear and chewing his lip. Two nervous tells at once, he was truly concerned for Peggy.

“Leave her alone, like you said,” Howard closed the file with a snap.

“And is that it?” He snapped. “She’s carrying your child Howard,” Maria was out of the house and far away. She was staying with her sister for a few days, getting her fill of Arianna’s children before returning. She wouldn’t be back for days so it was safe to talk.

“What do you expect me to do?” Howard groaned. “I can’t exactly marry her, and honestly, she’d say no.”

“Have you considered taking a holiday?”

“What good will that do?”

“Take a holiday with Maria,” Jarvis explained. “Talk Peggy into doing what is best for both your futures. Let her give you and Maria the child and let her be godmother.”

“She’d rather die than tell Maria what we did,” Howard shouted.

“You idiot! I’m not suggesting you tell anyone that the child isn’t yours and Maria’s. He’ll never be anything but yours and Maria’s! You will raise him and love him. Adopt him there and fake his birth certificate here. Naturalize him! I don’t care! Just don’t ruin her future and toss away the one that could be yours.”

“He?” Howard smiled softly.

“Yes, I said he, what of it?” Jarvis looked again at the family and relations sheet in Peggy’s file.

“I could have a son,” Howard stood and sauntered over to the window. He rested his elbows on the sill and bit his lip. He couldn’t stop smiling.

“Yes, you could,” Jarvis patted him on the back.

“France?” he asked. “Or should we go straight to England?”

“I think you can do whatever you like, sir,” he went back to rearranging the spices in the pantry.


	15. Blueboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast with Papa does not go well, for Peggy at least.

**Peggy**

“Who is coming over?” they sat at breakfast the next morning. Fletcher was beaming the entire time. He looked ready to do a jig. Jackson stood very formally near the door.

“The Crawleys.”

“Which Crawleys?” Peggy asked, nibbling her toast.

“Edith, Mary...” he would have gone on, had Peggy not interrupted.

“Oh God, both of them?” Peggy giggled. They were horribly argumentative, the Crawley sisters.

“Yes, but George, Sybil, and Marigold are coming too. They balance out the sisters quite nicely,” he smiled, still carefully peeling his hard boiled egg.

“Who else?” Peggy asked. She sipped her tea, but didn’t have the appetite for much else.

“Robert and Cora are going to be here,” There was a pleasant lull in conversation. “I told them to bring their riding things. Would you like to go with us?”

“Do you have a horse for me to ride?” she prayed that he didn’t. She knew that riding, especially the way her father rode, could cause... complications.

“Yes. One of Blueboy’s progeny. He’s big, but I think you can handle him,” her stomach jumped to her throat and then flopped back down. Blueboy had been hers. He was an enormous stallion, so black that his coat shone blue in the sunshine. His first colt had taken nearly three years to break and was wilder than the wind even when he had been.

“I’ll have to see if my old things aren’t too motheaten,” she nodded, suddenly revolted by the food on her plate. “And see whether or not I remember how to ride at all,” Fletcher watched her with concern. “I think I’ll do that now, Papa,” she stood and her father stood with her and smiled as she left. “Tell Molly her cooking still tastes like home,” she swallowed hard as she said the words to Fletcher. He eyed her full plate.

“I will m’lady,” he nodded. She made it up half the stairs before she broke into a nervous little trot. She took the last ten steps in bounds of two and whipped around the corner. She made it to the bathroom not a moment too soon. She retched and gagged for about a minute and then sank down against the wall. It was cool. It felt good. She sat in the blissful cool for another minute before flushing, rinsing her mouth, and turning to see Melanie at the door.

"Are you sick?" Her heart dropped and her stomach flipped over again. She only just managed not to vomit from the fear twisted in her gut. How long had Melanie been standing there? Had she seen Peggy's hand brush her stomach in a tender caress? Did she suspect anything?

"No," Peggy said. "I don't think so." Melanie held out her hand to Peggy and helped her to her feet.

"Is there something else wrong?" Melanie asked. They were fumbling through Peggy's clothes together, trying to find her riding clothes.

"No," Peggy said shortly.

"There is no need to lie. I will keep your secrets," Melanie put her hand gently over Peggy's. It was an intimate gesture, her promise to keep secrets. She had kept them before, there was no reason to distrust her now, but still, Peggy wanted to keep this secret as close to her chest as possible.

"I'm fine," Peggy sighed and took her hand out from beneath Melanie's. She had just pushed away one of her oldest friends. Before the war, if the situation had been the same, Melanie would have been her first and only confidant... Peggy didn't have it in her heart to trust anyone with this secret, not just yet.


	16. Margaret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crawleys arrive.

**George**

George got of the train and swung his cousins down by their waists. They giggled. Both of them were married women, but they still knew how to have a good time. He helped his mother and his aunt Edith down gently and assisted Donk down from his carriage. Donk, or rather, Lord Robert as he supposed him should call him in front of the Cartrette family, was adamant that  _ he _ should help Grandmama down from the carriage. He managed well enough, under Thomas's watchful eye. He was a rather sour character, Thomas, but he was a good man and a good servant.

"Are you sure it was her?" A wizened woman carrying a picnic basket in one arm and a knobbed cane in the other asked.

"You can't mistake her for anyone else!" A well dressed young man took her basket for her and helped her off the platform.

"Lady Margaret, back home again. What a lovely thing for his Lordship," the little old woman smiled joyfully.

"What did you say?" Marigold asked the woman.

"Lady Margaret's come home, hadn't you heard?"

"No, we hadn't."

"Is she married?" Mary asked wryly.

"I didn't see ring on her finger, ma'am," the young man said with a polite bob of his head towards the Crawley clan.

"Maybe we can get you married off while we are here," Edith smirked at Mary mischievously. They had grown a bit more civil in the years following the war.

"We'll be here three days, Aunt Edith," George said. "I doubt she'll marry me after three days."

"Give it four, a little extra charm, and a big ring, most girls will be on their knees for you," His Mama said with a pleased little smile.

"I wonder what she looks like?"

"I don't quite remember her very well. She was twelve last time I saw her," Sybil and Margaret were the same age. "That was a long time ago," she leaned on George. 

"Ah, yes, you're getting old now that you're married," Grandmama smiled.

"Not old, just mature," all the older persons in their little entourage snorted with laughter. Robert especially.

"She lived in America, so she's all right by my standards already," Cora piped in. The cars drove them up to the doors of the sumptuous mansion that was the Cartrette’'s smaller residence. Outside stood a small gaggle of servants, and the Lord of Saint Jean-Philippe, Phillip Charles Augustin Guillaume Cartrette. Nowhere in sight was the elusive Margaret.

"Robert!" Phillip embraced his old friend warmly and gave Cora a brisk kiss on each cheek. He did the same for all the girls and clapped  George on the back. "So good to see you," he nodded to Thomas and then, in turn, to Fletcher and they began carrying the cases inside.

"It's wonderful to see you too, but you must confirm or deny the rumors that your daughter is..." Donk was being very earnest, only to be interrupted.

"Right here, Lord Grantham," George saw her not a second after the words crossed her lips and he couldn't decide whether to sigh or groan. She was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. She had high cheekbones, lips stained the color of rich red wine, and a wide, full jaw, that drew attention to all of her face. Her collarbone was exposed by the dress that she wore, a purple velvet that tumbled down to her mid calf. She looked like a goddess. She was some sybaritic creature of beauty divine. 

The girls all gave audible gasps and Sybil started squealing. She attacked Margaret with hugs and kisses and, of course, more squealing. Margaret squeezed back and laughed. It was a lovely sound like a ringing bell. Her voice was a sweet alto. Marigold joined in all the hugging and they practically danced in a circle.

"Girls, kindly release Lady Margaret," George's Mama chided her. "I think I'd like to say hello as well." She embraced Margaret and gave her a small kiss on the cheek.

"George, say hello," Edith pushed him forward and he stumbled a bit too close to Margaret for a handshake or a bow.

"Hello," his voice was hushed with wonder. "It's very nice to see you," they were still very close to one another. They were breathing each other's air. If they had been alone, and courting, he would have kissed her.

"Are we going to hug each other or not?" He would have liked to do a great deal more than hug her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he wrapped his around her waist. She was warm. Her smile and the twinkle in her eyes and the warmth of her body felt like they were woven from sunlight on a high summer day. "It's very nice to see you, too," she gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek and he could feel blush creeping up his neck.


	17. Golden Like Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the Crawleys.

**Peggy**

“How long have you been back?” Mary asked. Peggy was sat elbow to elbow with George. She was glad. He was golden and warm just like Steve. He was kind and brave, like Steve, and she could hardly hold herself back, like with Steve.

“Two weeks,” she said pertly in answer.

“You must be exhausted,” Edith sympathized.

“No, I’m fine. I have honestly never felt more rested. It feels fantastic to be on English soil again,” a little bit of patriotism in her answer couldn’t hurt anyone.

“How long was your flight?” Sybil asked sweetly.

“Long enough,” she sighed.

“You must be tired though,” Lady Mary exclaimed.

“I’m not exactly a delicate little flower, though, am I, lady Mary?” that shut her up. Mary closed her mouth around a bite of dinner and ceased her questioning.

“So, I presume you don’t have a nice young man in America,” Cora smiled her sweet, old woman’s smile.

“No, Lady Grantham,” she took another delicate bite of her potatoes and smiled graciously. “I had work, and very little time to go on any outings.” The Crawley’s looked puzzled.

“Where on Earth did you work?” Marigold asked. Edith had worked at a paper, everyone worth their salt knew that.

“The phone company,” that was news to her father as well. The whole table went silent and she smiled. It was a lie, but one she was used to telling. It was also a hilariously false lie.

“You have got to be joking. Did you live in a boardinghouse?” Robert looked a little bit outraged. His hands shook, perhaps from old age, but also from anger.

“No, I had an apartment at the Griffith. It was a highly respectable establishment where rooms were only rented to distinguished young women. No men were allowed above the first floor, in case you were worried,” Robert sighed and set down his fork and knife.

“Good, I couldn’t abide the thought of a lady such as yourself staying in such conditions,” Robert took a sip of his wine.

“I wasn’t exactly a lady by the time I got there,” Peggy explained gently. “I went by a sort of pseudonym,” she confessed.

“What was it?” George asked. He looked excited. His big blue eyes shon gently and his golden curls did too. The light of the candles gleamed on the buttons of his tails. Even in his slight movements she could see his muscles ripple in graceful harmony. He was a sight to behold.

“Peggy Carter,” she said smugly.

“Wait just a moment… You were mentioned in the obituary of the man who was Captain America...” George turned to her. It was a complete breach of nobility protocol. There were rules and he was breaking them to turn the conversation on her.

“Steve Rogers, yes, I knew him.”

“It said you were his...”

“Friend and commanding officer. He was Captain America and the 107th threatened to call me Miss Union Jack, I happily declined,” dessert was brought out. Little chocolate cakes with fresh cream and cinnamon on top.

“You fought with him?” George completely ignored his cake and instead sat there enthralled by the little tidbits of information she was giving him.

“Yes. I ran off to join the French resistance and ended up joining the British military to do it. I asked that I be put on all official records as Margaret Carter to earn things on merit rather than a big name. I joined the group that oversaw Captain America I went to the United States, I quit the SSR and I worked for the phone company,” George didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. The fluttered about on his lap nervously.

“You had quite a lot of adventures, didn’t you?” Robert said with a pointed look at George that meant he was to sit straight and remember his manners.

“Yes, I did.”

“Are you going on any more?” he pleaded. Once he was face on to the table again, there was an opportunity that he took. It was a bold one. No one could see what his hands were doing under the draping tablecloth. He eased his hand to rest on her velvet covered thigh. She didn’t move or make any sounds to let on what he did, she simply covered his hand with hers.

“No. I think I’d better settle down,”she took a tender bite of the cake and her mouth flooded with a warm goo. They were filled with mousse. Molly did know her so well.

“I’m sure we can arrange that,” Robert chuckled.


	18. PS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard writes Peggy.

**Howard**

_ Dear Peggy, _

_ Jarvis has given me an idea that should work…  _

His letter went into great detail on the logistics of Jarvis’ plan with a few of his own small touches.

_ Write me when he moves.  _ Howard added as a PS.

“Would you like me to post that for you?” Jarvis startled him.

“Yes,” he handed him the envelope. It was crisp and white.

“I thought you were going to give her some space,” He examined the address and frowned.

“I just wanted to give her the plan and time to respond in case she wants to go through with it...”

“Alright. Be careful, she doesn’t break easily, but right now she’s more fragile.”

“Peggy isn’t fragile.”

“Even stone crumbles under pressure, Howard,” the both took a moment to reflect on Jarvis’ words of wisdom.

“How do you know so much about pregnant women?” Howard crossed his arms over his chest and smirked.

“I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I,” Ed stuttered horribly and blushed.

“Is Anna pregnant?” Howard shoved his jealousy to the pit of his stomach. It would come back up someday, but not today.

“I-I-I... yes,” he was red as a tomato and still managed to be even more abashed when Howard smacked him on the back.

“Good job, Ed,” he congratulated him. “Good job,” he was genuinely happy for them. But that didn’t stop the guilt and jealousy beginning to creep its way up into his throat.


	19. Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy finishes desert and reassures Fletcher.

**Peggy**

She wasn’t allowed to fall in love. Not here. Not then. Not in her condition. Not with a baby on the way. She could no more saddle George with that than she could think about telling her father before her stomach began to roll and her gag reflex triggered.

George’s hand on her thigh made her breathing a little faster. Her hand over top of it was a comfort. If he went too far she could rip back his middle finger. He didn’t however. Sweet George. His smile, his halo of curls, his shining eyes, his warm hands. Over the course of dessert and dessert wine he had fussed with her dress so that his hand was on bare skin, rather than smooth velvet. Towards the end of the dinner conversation he began to move his index finger around in tiny infuriating circles. He traced  stretch marks one by one, and freckles too.

“I think we should go up now,” Mary and Edith both stood, as did the gentlemen. George’s hand was gone from her long enough for her to rearrange her dress.

“I think Marigold and I shall too,” Sybil said before flouncing out of the room.

“And us,” Robert and Cora also departed till it was only George, Peggy, her father, and Fletcher. Lord Philip gave George an especially warning look and then his daughter almost the same glare.

“I’ll go up too,” her father placed his napkin on the table.

“Fletcher,” Peggy sang cheerfully to him.

“Yes, m’lady,” Fletcher smiled. It was fake and she could feel it.

“You have my leave to go,” Fletcher backed from the room without so much as a whine, though she could see the pain in his eyes and the warning.

‘If you do this, you’ll regret it,’ his dark eyes pleaded.

“Fletcher, wait,” Peggy stood and went towards the cupboard into which Fletcher had vanished. He stood wringing his hands in the doorway. “Fletcher,” she said sweetly. “I promise nothing of a wildly inappropriate nature will happen.”

“But what if something does come of tonight?”

“Nothing will come of tonight, Fletcher,” she promised. “I swear on my life, nothing will come of _tonight_.”


	20. I Want To Marry You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kiss and a dream.

**George**

She reentered the room and kissed him senseless. Her mouth was everywhere. Her warm red lips tasted like the cake they’d had earlier in combination with a very pleasant, very Margaret taste. She tasted like sunshine and wildflowers. They were quite horizontal by the time they were done. Her dark curls tumbled down to the top of the draped velvet folds that constituted the top of her dress. Her head rested against his chest and her breaths were soft sighs and murmurs.

“My family wants me to marry you,” he blurted. Peggy righted herself, only to reposition. Her chin  rested on his breastbone. Her big, dewy, brown eyes looked back at him. God, he could have melted right there. He could have proposed. He could have…

“I’d love to marry you someday,” she placed a feather-light kiss on his lips, the words were a gust of wind, hardly even audible.

“Soon?” His eyes were wide with wonder at her. How could anyone look so seraphic, so divine? Her kisses were transcendent, her face was sacred, her body was a marvel.

“Not soon,” she mumbled. She ran her fingers through his hair. His heart fell at her response.

“Why?” he asked, roughing the velveteen of her dress up the wrong way.

“I want to marry you in a years, when it’s spring again and there is frost on the windows in the morning and buds on the roses in the afternoon,” her voice was magic too. It stirred something in him.

“I’d marry you now if I could...” he whispered. She hushed him with a kiss.

“I want to marry you in ten years, when our children are playing and you kiss me in the sunshine on a summer day,” she nibbled on his earlobe.

“Okay,” he shuddered under her caresses.

“I want to marry you again when the leaves are falling from the trees and they look like fire raining down from heaven. I want to marry you when our hair is as white as the snow and our grandchildren are sledding and we know we love each other more than anything else in the world. I want to marry you now, but patience is a virtue,” he kissed her again. He cradled her waist with one hand and ran the other under the smooth fabric of her dress.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he  smoothed her dress down over her curves, tracing them lovingly as he went, and flipped them over. He knelt, stood, and helped her to her feet. One last kiss and they went their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George falls in love fast and without hesitation. He does not get it from his mother.


	21. Family Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Phillip discuss their children.

**Mary**

“Do you think she likes him?” Mary sat down in the little upstairs library where Philip sat, downing a scotch.

“What?” he nearly spat out his drink in surprise. His hearing was going, just like her’s.

“Do you think that they like each other?” Mary stirred her drink with her index finger and then sucked a drop of sweet liquor from her fingertip

“He certainly enjoys looking at her,” she smiled impishly.

“Yes,” Philip nodded his greying head. She didn’t know what kind of things must be going through his head. He must trust his daughter immensely if he would allow her and George alone together.

“She looks like her mother. I’m not surprised he stares,” he knocked back another glass and shook his head.

“Do you think they might fall in love?” Mary asked.

“You fell in love after a long time.” He paused, waiting for Mary to confirm. “And I fell in love in a second. The true question is, what are each of them predispositioned too and will they follow that predisposition, or find their own way.” He waved his drink around.

“Margaret seems sweet,” she said.

“Yes, and with the luck of your family and mine together she’ll die in childbirth while driving in a bloody car after getting shot twice through the heart,” Mary couldn’t conceal her shock.

“How could you say such things, Lord...” he cut her off.

“Please call me Phillip. You are familiar with tragedy. I thought I was after the first war, and then came my children, only to be torn away in this way or that,” he looked older as the light died outside.

“Philip, my husband died nearly thirty years ago,” she reminded him softly. “I know how you feel.”

“Thirty one years ago, my wife died in childbirth, the same year as Lady Sybil’s mother. Six years to the day, my son was killed by two shots to the chest. I don’t think you know how much I want my daughter to live beyond her current years, even if it means she is an old spinster, or bored out of her mind. I want to keep her safe.” His words had a ringing power through the room. They echoed off the vaulted ceiling and the inside of Mary’s head.

“And when you die George will be happy to look after her for you,” she answered his fears gently and he seemed to chew on the thought. He nodded knowingly.

“So we understand each other?” Philip asked.

“What is our understanding?” Mary wanted to hear him say it.

“They have our blessing to… whatever,” Mary sighed with relief and elation. “To the safety of our children, Mary,”  he raised his glass and drank. She did the same. “And may god save them from our family’s luck.” he gave a solemn smile and stood. He wandered off to bed, drink still in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canon divergence alert! Canon divergence alert!


	22. Rag Doll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young people, and Lord Cartrette, are going riding. Peggy joins them.

**George**

“Well?” he had passed another dreamlike day with Margaret. They had walked in the garden and he was amazed by her banter. She had some witty thing to say to everything. He was in awe of her, mind and body. "Will you come ride with us?" The prospect seemed to make her nervous. She began to fumble with her shawl. It was soft cashmere and the fringe tangled with her fingers.

"I haven't ridden in years," she protested.

"It's all muscle memory, you'll do fine," she looked rather pale, but he remembered what a fearless rider she had been when last he saw her. Her hair had been all done up in a tight knot and she had ridden faster and further and jumped higher than any of the boys her age and even older. Blueboy, her horse, was an enormous beast with hooves the size of dinner plates and pupils near the same size. He had sired many fine colts and fillies that still resided at the mainland Cartrette residence.

"Alright," she agreed. She went off to get changed and his cousins came down. Each was wearing breeches and formal riding tails, his were the same only with a slightly different tailoring style.

"Is she coming with us?" Sybil beamed.

"Yes. She was nervous, but yes," George answered. The only two sitting out of the cross country adventure were his grandparents. While Donk occasionally enjoyed a short walk on horseback, neither he nor Grandmama were up for a ride.

"Why on Earth would she be nervous? It's only a short course," it was only five minutes before Margaret descended the stairs. She looked resplendent in her riding garb. Their horses were saddled by the time they made the walk to the stables. Sybil and Lord Philip had gotten into an animated conversation about the Irish dissent. It had ended in a friendly agreement that both sides had valid points and a cheery remark from Philip about the best rider getting a kitten.

"My lady," the horse master offered Margaret his help in mounting she looked at the dark creature before her and took a deep breath. Three bounces and she was up. The blue beast, who the horse master called Cerulean, didn't fight for his head. He seemed well mannered for one of Blueboy's colts, but he was a stallion and enormous didn't seem a big enough word for him. "Careful," the horse master patted her leg after helping the rest of the group mount. "He likes to have his head on the fences. Give him plenty of rein and grab plenty of mane. He has a gait as smooth as butter. If he tries to run off, sing, he likes it," she looked white as a sheet. George pulled his gelding up next to Cerulean and smiled at her.

"Shall we?" Philip squeezed his horse into a trot and then, without much warning, he and Royal were off. Sybil and Marigold urged their horses onward, taking a more conservative pace. Margaret waited until all three of them had cleared the first jump before allowing Cerulean to go. At first, George could keep pace, at the walk and then the trot, his horse cantering to keep with Cerulean's huge strides. By the time he reached full gallop George was left in the dust. The course was swift and full of turns. There was a delightful feeling of that excitement that comes with horseback riding. 

That was until Margaret flew over the fence with a bit more momentum than Cerulean and was flung free like a rag doll. He heard her hit the ground with a sickening sound.

George wasn't sure he remembered getting off his gelding. He wasn't sure he remembered lifting her head into his lap or smearing the blood from the the cut on her forehead back into her hair. He didn't remember screaming for help and he certainly didn't remember how long it took before anyone reached them. Cerulean stood as if guarding them. His great, solemn horse's face looked almost sorry for what he had done.


	23. Bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy is thrown.

**Peggy**

Flying was an odd sensation. Falling, not so much. She had fallen before. From planes, with parachutes on her back, from horses even when she was younger. She had fallen down stairs, onto her knees, been knocked out and fallen down. This was no different.

Her head hurt and she could feel George there. Her heart was fluttering a little bit quickly and the world around her spun. She concentrated on who she was. 

_ ‘I am Peggy Carter. I worked at the SSR. I am in England. I am with my father and the man I may be falling in love with. I was riding, I fell off. I am eight weeks gone...’  _ She forced herself to run through the facts, even as the world rushed and blurred before her eyes.

“What happened?” her father entered her line of vision followed closely by Sybil and Marigold, both of whom were pale and almost green. Peggy knew she was bleeding from her head. She took inventory of herself. There was blood on her forehead and some seeping through the ripped fabric over her knee. She wasn’t bleeding anywhere else, thank heaven.

“Fell,” it was hard to force her voice out of her throat. She reached up and touched her mouth. She had a fat lip, it was bleeding too, upon inspection, but other than that and the gash on her forehead, her face seemed untouched.

“Did he throw you?” her father snapped his fingers next to her ear and the sound, rather than being muffled was loud and sharp as a knife. She winced. “Margaret, answer me,” he cooed. His voice sounded too sweet, like syrup on pancakes. He took her face in his hands and came closer.

“No,” she mumbled, trying to get away from the persistent, though not loud, sound of his voice. “I wasn’t ready...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna leave y'all hanging but I couldn't do it.


	24. Couldn't Stand to Hear Her Crying

**Howard**

His phone rang. It was the middle of the afternoon and Maria was off getting her hair cut before their voyages abroad. She had only just left and wouldn’t be back for ages.

“Hello, Stark residence,” he picked it up and cradled the phone on his shoulder.

“Howard?” the voice was shaky and it sounded far away. He couldn’t tell who it was.

“Who is this?” he asked.

“Peggy, sorry,” she sounded terrible. Her voice was slow and croaking.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” the word sounded like a whimper.

“Is everything alright with the baby?” his heart stopped. Her pause was long.

“Yes,” she choked. He could hear her sniffling. Peggy sounded like she was trying hard not to burst into tears.

“Then why do you sound like you’re going to cry?” he leant against the wall and waited for her answer. Peggy began whimper. He almost couldn’t listen to her crying. It hurt too much.

“I fell off a horse,” she sobbed.

“Oh,” he said “But everything’s fine?” he knew what kind of crying this was. He knew that it was those stupid tears that seem pulled from your eyes by some cruel giants. Those cries pulled from you by the torture of nothingness and… somethingness.

“Yes,” she sobbed.

“Then there’s no harm done, right?” He placed his hand over his racing heart and told himself to calm down. Everything was fine… he thought.

“Yes, and now my father knows,” Peggy  sobbed.

“Okay,” he crooned. “Is he angry with you?” He wanted to hug her, a difficult task as she was an ocean away from him. He was itching for her to stop crying, because if she didn’t stop soon, he would start.

“No...”

“Did you get my letter?” he heard her smile, a wet sad smile. He had comforted her.

“Yesterday, I haven’t opened it,” her breathing slowed, her sobs stopped before he spoke again.

“You should.” he hoped she could hear his smile as well.

“I will,” he closed his eyes and pictured her. She stood upright in his mind, with her doe eyes closed and her brown hair tumbling to her shoulders. She was beautiful, but vulnerable. He knew that Peggy could use her vulnerability to her advantage, and would if she had to.


	25. Ignorant Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy reads Howard's letter.

**Peggy**

_ Dear Peggy, _

_ Jarvis has given me an idea that should work. It will however require you to give up parental rights in favor of Maria and I being the baby’s legal guardians. Maria and I would go on a long trip to Europe and come back quietly with him and raise him. You could come back after an appropriate period and continue your work at the SSR. You would, of course, be named godmother and be able to see him whenever you like. We are ready to leave on the trip and if you don’t want to give him up, then you have every right to keep him. If you do decide to keep him, I’d love to see him. Maria sends her love, even though she doesn’t know I’m writing this. _

_ Yours Truly, _

_ Howard Stark _

_ PS; Write me when he moves. _

Peggy read the letter slowly by the candle on her bedside table. The light flickered and flitted around like a fairy on her walls. She reached down and slid her fingers over the smooth, slight, curve if her belly. 

“Margaret,” her father’s voice rippled through the air. He had a lovely voice, both speaking and singing. He was fluent in French as well as English and he slipped into the languid tongue. He slipped inside her room and sat down on the bed. "Ma cherie," he patted the bed beside him. He looked at her expectantly but she refused to sit.

"I am perfectly capable of standing," she hissed.

"You had a minor concussion and you're pregnant," he stated. "Honestly sitting won't hurt," he patted the bed beside him again, and she refused again.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

"You obviously weren't fine in the head! Riding! At eight weeks!" he chided her. It wasn’t in a cruel tone of voice. He didn’t shout, he simply sounded mildly disappointed, which was even worse.

"I'm fine..." she trailed off.

"So you decided to risk your health and that of your unborn child for a bit of fun?"

"It was you who pressured me into going!" she shouted.

"That is true, and I must take some of the blame for not noticing your condition," he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Melanie thought you had cancer. She thought you came back home to die." They sat on the bed and he held her close. He couldn't remember the last time she had allowed him to do that. Their arrival embrace hadn't counted. A teenage Margaret almost never let him hug her.

"No, I wouldn't have come home. I would have gone to a hospital," she rested her head on his shoulder and sighed.

"You're a smart girl coming back here," he chuckled. "You can stay out of public and no one will notice a thing."

"That's the plan," she mumbled.

"And after? When there's a baby, what will you do?" he asked. It was a perfectly normal question and one that he had the right to an answer to.

"The father wants it," she said simply, hoping, maybe, just maybe, that would be enough information for just then. It wasn’t, of course.

"A single American wants to keep a baby from his one night stand?" he snorted incredulously.

"I never said he was single, Papa," she waited for him to respond. She waited for him to snarl at her for being an adulteress and a harlot.

"Will his wife want the baby?" He pressed another nervous kiss to Margaret's brow.

"They want to adopt him," she said plainly, hoping again to deter him from asking more and more and more.

"She doesn't know, does she?" she could tell his heart was heavy now, or at least heavier than before.

"No, and she must never know,"

“Doesn’t she have a right to know?” Peggy was in trouble. Her stomach jumped to her throat and she could feel it and hear it beating in her head. By all morals she had been brought up in, Maria did have a right to know. That wouldn’t do though. This child would  _ fix  _ Maria and Howard’s relationship, though the baby wouldn't be seen as a band aid, but would be cherished by two people who loved it more than anything but each other. One parent would live in blissful ignorance, the other in full knowledge of the scarlet A dancing through his life.

“Papa, please,” she buried her head in his shoulder and forced herself to cry. It didn’t take much. She seemed to, at any second, be ready to weep. Stupid hormones. But they were becoming useful. “She can’t know, not  _ ever _ ,” she seemed to be taking a leaf out of Angie’s book. Tricking people by… acting… Who was she kidding? By manipulating them was something she was an ashamed expert at.

“Alright, alright,” he kissed her hair and rubbed her back while she trembled. “I guess she will live in ignorant bliss.”


	26. A Thousand Sonnets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grandmama pries.

**George**

“Have you heard from Margaret?” Grandmama said sweetly at the dinner table. George was tempted to throw a tantrum and toss aside his silverware, run up to his room and scream into a pillow. For the hundredth time…

“No, Grandmama,” she tutted under her breath at his exasperation.

“That’s a shame, she would have been a good match for you,” she took another bite of her salmon and George resisted the urge to throw his knife at her. Of course she would have been a good match for him, she still could be. There was no reason to suggest anything was seriously wrong… was there?

“She had a hard fall, she’s probably just being cautious,” Sybil saved Grandmama’s life and George’s dignity with her sweet words. Her father sat beside her and nodded his approval.

“I think you should write to her,” Marigold said cheerily.

“He’s probably drafted a thousand sonnets by now,” Edith said quietly to herself. Everyone heard and everyone laughed, even George had to chuckle.

“It's only been a two months, people wait longer without word from each other,” his mother’s sad gaze fell to her lap, as did Aunt Edith’s. They both knew the pain of waiting.

“I guess I should write, or call or something.” He shook his head and continued eating.

“You really should. Between you and me, women like those kinds of things, George,” Robert whispered loudly. Even Thomas cracked a smile.


	27. A Deadly Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard visits.

**Howard**

The place was big actually. It wasn’t his idea of the enormous castle with the small town surrounding it, but it was apparently Peggy’s home. He was keeping a low profile.Walking, wearing a hat and plain clothes, avoiding people’s gazes. As he worked his way inward he began to notice a hush. The palace of a house that towered in grey stone above him had an iron gate, tied open, and great oak doors on the other end of a long drive. 

It had been three months since her fall from the horse and he and Peggy had written regularly, talking about everything except the baby. She detailed to him the books she read and the incredible drama of one of the end of the maid’s four year engagement to a London steelworker. She doodled in the margins when she was bored. She liked drawing Steve. Each tiny doodle of a shield or the shape of his eyes made Howard’s insides fold in on themselves. 

He reached the doors and took the knocker in one hand and wrapped it twice on the door before stepping back. He had told Peggy he was coming to visit, just not when he was coming. He hadn’t known when he was coming, but Maria was having a spa day and he declined to join her.

“Hello, sir,” a small creaky looking old man opened the door with its polished brass handles. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Margaret,” he smiled cheerily. “I’m a friend of hers from stateside,” the little old man’s eyes widened. It was then that he heard Jarvis puffing down the drive behind him. He was dressed in travel clothing, like Howard, but when he reached the door he stopped.

“Mr. Fletcher, it’s very nice to see you,” he shook the man’s hand in a panic. “This is Howard Stark, my employer. He and Lady Margaret were friends during the war and he has been worried about her since. He found her address and decided he would like to visit her,” Jarvis panted out the sentences in between short breaths and long pauses.

“Of course, Mr. Jarvis, come in, we can have some tea,” Fletcher answered politely. They entered the sitting room and were left there with a pot of tea that Jarvis poured.

“You know him?” Howard sipped his tea. He preferred coffee, but it wasn't bad. It had an exotic spicy flavor that made his taste buds dance.

“Yes, he is, by all accounts, the man who started me on my journey to being a household servant.” Jarvis sputtered. He seemed incredibly nervous.

“Howard Stark, in my house, I never thought I’d live to see the day,” the man who entered the room was stately, but older. His hair was grey, in an attractive silvery way. His body was strong and upright despite his age. He had eyes that Howard recognized. Peggy had those eyes, though they were different color, they were the same shape. He had high cheekbones, an average nose, a broad forehead.

“Hello, my Lord,” Howard nodded his head respectfully.

“I am not your Lord. You are an American,” Phillip said.

“I mean to show my respect,” Howard felt awkward, the enormous grey man before him seemed angry with him. Did he know?

“An odd thing, why do you require my respect?” Howard’s stomach rolled over.

“I hope to talk to your daughter,” Howard said, clearing his throat.

“Was it you who got her pregnant?” he asked.

“I don’t know what gave you that idea,” howard stammered.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Phillip smirked.

“I don’t know why you would think that,” howard was trying to backpedal his way up a damn mountain. Peggy would want to tell her father. He shouldn’t have come without warning. She was going to kill him.

“I knew the father was married. I didn’t expect him to be a bloody billionaire with a respectable reputation, apart from the weapons of mass destruction deal,” he was an inch from Howard’s face. His blue eyes were cold steel. An icy chill ran down Howard’s spine. “I could kill you for what you did,” the towering Lord spat at Howard’s feet. “I don’t know about in America, but here, when a man despoils a woman’s honor or gets her with child, they usually have the decency to marry her.”

“That would be hard,” Howard smirked. “As you said, I’m already married.” The punch to his stomach was a quick but deadly one. One swift movement and Peggy’s father had him on his knees, gasping for breath.

“Don’t be smart with me, boy,” he growled, dragging Howard to his feet by the shoulders of his jacket. 

“That’s hard, I’m a genius,” Howard wanted to scream at Lord Phillip Charles Augustin Guillaume Cartrette and tear him to pieces. He wanted to grab Peggy and run away. He wanted to clear his conscience with Maria, to tell her his mistake and that they could have a son if only she didn't tell anyone that he’d murdered Peggy’s dad. But that was never going to happen.

“I could expose you. I could tell your wife. I could make sure that child never leaves my sight,” he screamed.

“There’s a flaw in that plan, Phil,” Howard struggled free of his grip and shoved him backwards. “In exposing me, you might accidentally expose your daughter. Which you won’t do, for both our sakes.”

“Howard,” Peggy’s voice lilted from the door. “Howard is that you?” he tried to wipe the anger from his features as she burst in. She had an enormous grin plastered across her face.

“You swallowed a melon, Peggy,” she threw her arms around his neck and he swung her around. He set her on her feet and held her steady while he took her in. She looked, indeed, like she had swallowed a melon of some kind. She was almost unchanged. Her eyes sparkled the same, her lips were red, her dress was pretty. Her face was fuller, more round, but her high cheekbones still stood. Her belly was all that changed.

“How’s Maria?” she asked.

“Fine,” Howard said a little bit indifferently. He sank slowly to his knees in front of her and looked at the ballooning curve of her belly. He reached out a hand and placed it gently over her belly button. He felt a tiny flutter and drew his hand back. 

“He likes you,” she said. Jarvis fidgeted, seemingly uncomfortable with the semi-platonic intimacy between the friends.

“I wish she could have had this,” he said. He poked Peggy’s tummy again softly. There was a rebellious little kick that followed. “She wanted this so bad.”

“Stay for dinner Mr. Stark. We have something to discuss,” Philip left the room quickly, the heels of his shoes clicking on the floor.


	28. Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inheritance is discussed.

**Peggy**

“If it is a boy, I want to legitimize him as my heir,” her Papa said flatly.

“What!?” Peggy watched as Howard swallowed to avoid spitting his wine all over the table.

“I said I want to legitimize your son as my heir, with Margaret as guardian of his lands here, until he comes of age,” Papa said once more.

“You’re telling me you want my kid to be some English lord?”Howard sputtered.

“Technically we’re Norman, but yes,” Papa said. Peggy couldn’t help but giggle. It was a sort of inside joke.

“You hate me! Why would you want my kid to rule?” Howard wiped his mouth and scooted back from the table.

“Because at this point I’m not entirely convinced anything else will come along,” Phillip cut into his steak and took a ginger bite.

“George might,” Peggy said.

“I still want to do this,” Papa said once more.

“Who’s George?” Howard asked. Peggy felt the baby kick.

“George Crawley, Earl of Grantham and viscount of Downton. He’s the heir to a lot of land in York,” Peggy explained.

“Good! Great!” Howard put down his knife and fork and rested his head in his hands. “You want to put it in your will that my son gets all you’ve got when he turns eighteen? And what if Peggy does marry Prince Charming? She has kids of her own. Her kids get older, her sons, and they wake up one day and decide they want to know who’s getting their grandpappy’s palace. “Mama? Why is Howard Stark’s son the heir to everything that’s supposed to be ours?” and Hell if I’m going to have anything linking my kid back to Peggy when he’s older. I want him to live in a secure world where he can speak softly and carry a big stick and no one will be able to throw him off guard, ever. This is a hole in his invulnerability. I will not let your gift to him be an achilles heel.” He stood and turned away from the table, leaning back against it, slightly. "i think I need some air."

“I understand how you feel, but you can’t sway me out of this. He will be named in my will, and the land will take care of itself. If he doesn’t accept the land, then he can sell it,” her Papa said it all quietly. “This is the price you pay, Mr. Stark.” He stood up and followed Howard out the door.


	29. A Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four weeks left. Better tell Maria.

**Howard**

“Why are we here?” Maria asked. She sat on the edge of a pristine pond, swinging her feet through swarms of minnows that seemed never to stop moving.

“I found us a baby,” his head was in her lap. He was half asleep in the lazy warm summer day. “I did all the paperwork. All you need to do is to say yes.”

“Yes,” she said. He felt something wet drip from above him and land on his cheek. A tear of joy. He opened his eyes to see Maria’s eyes glistening with wetness and her lips curved into the most beautiful smile he had even seen in his life.

“Tony, after your dad?” he asked.

“Or Anna, after your mother,” she said softly, wiping away her tears.

"Sounds perfect," he leant up and kissed her perfect lips before reclining again.

"When?" He had to think about that. Peggy was due in about four weeks. 

"She's due in four weeks. It could be sooner, but it won't be if we're lucky," he had to keep telling himself that Peggy would be fine, that the baby would be fine if he was born early, but that wouldn't necessarily be true. Childbirth was dangerous, always had been, always would be as far as he knew. His family had a good record as far as healthy children and mothers, but he didn't know what Peggy's family history looked like.

"Do we get to meet her? Thank her?" Maria asked, her smile burst off her cheeks and flew about her like a little bird.

"No. She doesn't want us to know her name..." He paused. "I'm sure we could write letters. The middlemen could hand them to her for us," he took her hand in his and kissed it.

"Okay," she stroked her index and third fingers over the smooth expanse of his forehead.

"We're gonna be parents, Maria," he said, trying to convince the both of them that this was real.

"Is that why we're vacationing out of the public eye?"

"I didn't want this to turn into a news scandal, Maria. I didn't want that to be a question you have to answer for the rest of your life," he kissed her knuckles and she did the same.

"Thank you, Howie," she wiped her nose and went back to running her fingers through his hair. "What if the baby is blonde?" Her eyes opened wide and she giggled.

"They told me she's a brunette, hopefully we won't have to worry about that," his heart was flying up and down, trying to drown itself in shame at the bottom of his gut one second, and flying to his throat the next.


	30. Papa So Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy goes into labor.

**Peggy**

“Margaret?” her father’s voice called from outside her door. She had her hand in a fist in the sheets. She was sweating up a storm and gritting her teeth. “Margaret, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she tried to say in a cheery voice. It didn’t work. Her father opened the door and turned on the light.

“No, no you’re not,” he rushed over and placed the cool back of his hand on her forehead. “How long?”

“An hour, the contractions are five minutes apart, and no there’s nothing you can do to help,” tears squeezed from her eyes as the next contraction rolled over her.

“Well, for one, I can call the doctor,” he kissed her forehead. “For another, I can call Mr. Stark,” he reached for the phone but her hand shot out and caught his in a deathgrip.

“Don’t call Howard until it's over, please,”she begged.

“Why not?” Her father asked. He pushed a sweaty ringlet away from her face and gave her a sympathetic look.

“I don’t… I can’t...” She stuttered. 

“Honestly, he did this to you, he deserves to see you like this,” he said, anger in his eyes.

“Was that Mum’s philosophy?” She asked with a breathy giggle.

“Of course. She screeched at me for sixteen hours with your brother. It was horrible, and I think he probably needs a taste of that,” Peggy agreed with her mother on that count. Sixteen hours of screeching was probably what her father and Howard deserved, but it did take two to tango. It was her fault she was in this mess too.

“He would faint,” she smiled.

“I did, three times,” he ran his hand over her belly, remembering it all. The baby kicked, once, twice, thrice.

“And what about with me?” Peggy knew he didn't like to talk about her birth. That was, of course, because her mother had died, not because he didn't love her.

“I came in about halfway, she didn't shout, she just held my hand. She looked dead tired,” he continued to stroke his fingers over the soft mound of her belly. It seemed to comfort him, so she let him continue. It also was reassuring for her, in some small way, she felt like everything would be all right with her Papa so close.

“So as long as I don’t look tired, you’re not going to worry about me, right?” She reached her hand up to her father's face and felt his five o'clock shadow beneath her fingertips. She remembered kissing him goodnight when she was small and hating the scratchy beard. He chased her around and playfully rubbed his face on hers. Her brother laughed and so did she.

“Of course I’m going to worry about you,” he took one of her hands in his and squeezed it.

“I’m not going to die,” she promised. She made him look at her while she said it too. She promised him.

“Margaret,” he protested.

“I won’t to die today,” she promised.

“Darling, you can’t know...” He looked on the verge of tears and she was.

“I know, because I. Refuse. To. Die.” She said stubbornly, punctuating every one of the last four words.

“Maybe death will take one look at you and run,” he laughed at her stubborn sweetness.

“He’d better,” Peggy sighed. "I keep a gun in my bedside drawer," he opened it and saw that she wasn't joking.

"Old army habits? Or didn't you work for the phone company?" he smirked. He already knew the answer, he just wanted to humor her.

"Old habits die hard. Go call Howard," she grumbled.


	31. Go Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip calls.

**Howard**

“Hello, Mr. Stark,” it was him. It was Phillip. Maria looked up and cocked her head to the side.

“Hello, sir,” he mouthed ‘work thing’ at Maria and she looked away. “Is this about the military deal?” he leaned against the wall and prayed that Lord, Philip understood that he couldn’t talk.

“She’s in labor, say you need to come in or something,” he could hear an underlying panic in Peggy’s dad’s voice. He sounded shaky, unlike the steel forged old codger he was.

“Alright, I’ll be there in twenty,” he hung up and turned to Maria with a knot in his stomach. “I’m sorry, baby, I have to go. Duty calls,” he kissed her on the forehead, grabbed his coat, and slid out the door. Jarvis and Anna were sitting on the hood of the car, laughing when he came into view. Their daughter squealed with baby giggles.

“Hello, Mr. Stark,” they said in unison.

“Jarvis, would you mind driving, I have a bit of business to attend to,”

“Of course Mr. Stark,” Jarvis stood up and brushed off his pants. He kissed his daughter and Anna in turn.


	32. Anthony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BABY TIME.

**Peggy**

It was going a bit quicker than she expected. Or had it been longer than she thought? The hands on the clock went past at an alarming rate and  Howard was there. When had he arrived? The doctor was gentle and kind, his midwife friends too. They ordered her about softly and with a kind air that, until the breaking point, kept her calm. There was a moment when she could have sworn her vision snapped to red and she wanted to murder everyone in the room. That was about when her water broke and the doctor gave her the simple, deadly command that pushed everything into a racing frenzy. Time slowed down, but actions sped up.

“Can I have one great big push?” the doctor asked sweetly. He had a hand on each one of her knees and a smile that she could have smacked right off his smug face.

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” she said through clenched teeth. Howard and her father had been banished to the hallway where, even still, she could hear them pacing.

“One more,” three hours of pushing and it was still “one more,” in a sickly sweet voice that made her want to vomit. 

It almost didn’t register when the baby started crying. A sweet little squall. She opened her eyes and saw a small, wriggling, very cross looking, bundle of baby in the doctor’s arms. His little brow was furrowed as if he was thinking very hard about something incredibly complicated. Of course he was. He had only just opened his big brown eyes to the light and closed them again. He had to think of the light and the blink and all the other things and it was a bit too much. He began to wail.

“Would you like to hold him?” the doctor asked, his voice no longer horribly sweet, his smile no longer obnoxious. 

“Howard,” she called instead. “Howard, come in here, now!” She balled her fist in the sheets and just kept looking at the beautiful child in front of her.

“What is it?” he stumbled in, followed closely by her father.

“Take the baby,” she said, breathlessly.

“I don’t know how to hold a baby!” he said in a panic.

“For Christ’s sake, you two,” her father scooped the baby out of the doctor’s arms and placed him in Howard’s arms. He placed one of Howard’s hands beneath the neck and head and the other under the bulk of the baby’s swaddled body. “There,” he planted his hands on his hips. “That’s how you hold a baby,” he leant down and pressed a kiss to the infant’s head before he slid over to sit down on the bed next to Peggy. Once he got there, she wrapped her hand tightly about his and watched Howard.

“What’s his name, Howard?” Peggy asked.

“Anthony Stark,” Howard said, quietly, surely.

“Alright, Tony,” Peggy motioned Howard over and he came obediently.

“Oh no,” her father shook his head. “No grandson of mine will have some silly nickname. He’ll go by his Christian name,” her father glared at Howard, who nodded, clutching the baby to him.

“Only while you’re in the room, Papa,” Howard gently transferred the tiny Tony to Peggy’s arms where one of his little hands stretched out from the blanket, his chubby fingers brushing the side of Peggy’s face.

“Good, job, Pegs,” Howard brushed away sweaty curls from her forehead. “You did that all by your lonesome.”

“Not really. I was never alone,” she stroked her thumb over the little nose. He looked like a porcelain doll with a red paint job. His little sighing breaths were comfort there, in the warm room with the people that loved Anthony Stark most in the world.


	33. Sincerity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is short. Very short.

**Howard**

“Where were you?” Maria chided. “I was worried sick!”

“Halfway through the meeting Jarvis barged in and said there was a call from the company,” he kissed Maria on the forehead. “Tomorrow morning, we get to go pick up our little baby boy.” She squawked. Her arms gripped his neck so tightly he thought he might pass out. 

“Oh my God, Howard!” she kissed him frantically.

“I love you, Maria,” he buried his face in her hair. “I love you so much.” He had never been so sincere in his life.


	34. Wearing Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is to be a ball.

**George**

“A masked ball? Really? Are they serious?” George pulled the mask off and looked his mother in the eye.

“Yes, they are, and the princesses will be there,” Aunt Edith said.

“So we have to go?” all three of the Crawley cousins said in unison.

“Yes,” Edith and Mary said, also in unison.

“And we have to wear masks?” Sybil asked, throwing herself on the bed.

“Yes,” Mary said.

“What sort of clothes?” Marigold asked with a pout.

“Ballgowns,” Edith smirked.

“I’ll stab someone before the night is out if I have to wear a corset,” Sybil said with her face set in the most serious look she probably ever had.

“You have to wear a corset,” Mary held one up.

“Who are you alright with me stabbing?” Sybil asked cheekily. They all laughed.

“At least you two will always have someone to dance with, you’re both married,” George said sulkily.

“And you’ll always have someone to dance with because you are a bachelor with a title,” Sybil countered.

“Ah yes, but how will they know that if they can’t see my handsome face?” George still looked sullen.

“I think they’ll know,” his mother patted him on the head condescendingly.

“What if Margaret’s there?” Sybil gasped.

“Then I’ll try to get a dance with her, I suppose,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“How will you know it's her? She’ll be wearing a mask,” Sybil winked at him and snuck off to bed, as did all of the ladies one by one.

“I’ll know it's her.” He said to himself in the quiet dark of the library room.


	35. But...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy dances. That always goes well, right?

**Peggy**

Her father had made her go. It was a ball, a masked ball and she was wearing a bloody corset. Her body had recovered rather quickly from her pregnancy, only two months ago she was the size of a whale. She wasn't back to normal, but she looked much unchanged to the stranger’s eye. Her waist was cinched quite a lot and she wasn’t unsure that, even before Tony, it would have made it hard to breathe. The black and blue brocade was laced with little golden threads and scraps of shimmering golden lace. Her mask was black as well, the eye holes lined with golden paint.

“May I walk you in?” her father offered her his arm. His mask was plain, simple and white. He looked resplendent. She was eternally grateful to him, her father, for everything he’d done for her. She was even more grateful to him for everything he’d done to protect Anthony from the truth of his origins.

“Yes, of course,” she took his arm and they glided in. The ballroom was exquisite. The walls were bright with colors and draped vines. The ceiling was high and vaulted with gold leaves and molding around the edges. The persian rug at the entryway looked fine in the candlelight and then shone in the light from the chandeliers. The room was full of music and chatter. The smells were heavenly and there was wine everywhere. She was woken from the trance of the room by her father’s arm slipping from hers.

“I’ll see you later, my darling,” he headed towards a group of older women in more conservatively beautiful garb. They waved him over and he trotted to meet them.

“Hello,” a lilting voice drifted into her ear. It was a girl’s voice. There was another girl beside her. Both were dressed all in purple and blue brocade and lace. Their masks were something to behold, but their crowns marked them out.

“Hello,” she curtsied. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know who you are,” one of the princesses said. “You walked in with Philip Cartrette, but I don’t know who you are.”

“That’s the point of the mask, Margaret,” the shorter one said. She was, then, princess Elizabeth.

“I believe you wouldn’t know me even without the mask. I’ve been living in the states for a while,” Peggy said.

“Are you Lord Philip’s mistress?” Princess Margaret asked rather boldly.

“God, no, I’m his daughter,” Peggy giggled.

“You’re her?” the other Margaret gasped.

“Yes, I am,” she said.

“You look lovely,” Princess Elizabeth complimented. Her smile was beautiful under her mask.

“And you look the picture of a princess,” Peggy whispered.

“Oh it's a group dance now,” Margaret looked to the floor and saw young men and women gathering. The women’s sweeping skirts brushed the floors and the men were wearing stiff collars and doublets and old fashioned coats. Princess Elizabeth grabbed her hand and led her onto the floor. It was great fun dancing around in circles and being handed from one man to another. By the end of it, almost the entire younger generation of Britain’s nobles were in stitches from laughing so hard. She had ended in the arms of a dark haired man, about six feet tall with arms and legs like tree trunks. He was dashing in his white and silver tails and his silvery mask.

“You look lovely,” she was acutely aware of his hand on her waist.

“And I’m not sure I could have ended with a more handsome partner,” she said breathlessly. 

“Unfortunately I must steal her away,” a familiar voice sang in her ears. 

“George?” she whispered as the golden stranger took her in his arms for the next dance.

“Margaret,” he smiled. Even from behind the mask she could see his chocolate eyes. They were axinite set in the gold of his mask and his hair and…

“I missed you,” she mumbled, pressing her head to his shoulder.

“And I you...” he kissed the top of her head. “Why didn’t you write?”

“I had a lot on my mind,” he didn’t question her further, but they danced and danced and danced until the candles burned low and the room began to empty.

“I want to marry you,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“I want to marry you,” she said as her heart fell.

“But…?” he asked gently.

“I can’t do that to you. I want us to part as friends,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes, refusing to watch herself rip out his soul.

“I don’t want us to part at all, Margaret,” he protested.

“But we will, in life or in death. If I marry you, I’ll likely have to watch you die, or you me, and I won’t do that, not to either of us. I won’t risk watching you die for a whirlwind romance. I can’t marry you.” She bit her lips as the words crossed them. He tripped, stepping on her toes. She remembered Steve’s last words.

_ “I'd hate to step on your...”  _ She broke away and whisked herself out of the ballroom before she could cry.


	36. Peals of Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy meets Tony "for the first time".

**Howard**

“Peggy!” Maria’s joyful cry woke him. He heard the sound of muffled squealing from the doorway of their DC residence. Tony was awake and staring at him with his little brown eyes. after a moment of staring he smiled and gurgled. “Howard get out here!” Maria ordered. “Bring Tony, we need to show him off!” Howard scooped up the burbling infant and slid out into the front hall. Peggy looked much unchanged from the last time she had been in his home. Her eyes sparkled and Maria was practically strangling her.

“Is Tony this beautiful baby boy?” Peggy cooed and Howard handed her the baby and she bounced him up and down. The hall rang with peals of laughter.

“Yes,” Maria ruffled Tony’s feathery hair. It was curly and dark, much like his own, but with the slightest brown sheen shot through it, a reminder of his mother's genetics.

“My goodness, how old are you, little one?” Peggy’s hands held him so naturally, so sweetly that Howard had to sigh. His son. Her son. She loved him. She kissed Tony's head and handed him back to Maria.

“Four months,” Maria rubbed Tony’s back. He turned to her and smiled and turned back to Peggy.

“You are a big boy aren’t you,” Peggy tickled his sides and he giggled harder than before.

“He is,” Howard said, his eyes fixed on Peggy.

“Does he sleep well?” She looked up at Howard warningly.

“Yes. He loves listening to his daddy read to him, even though he can’t understand him. Honestly, Howard could read him notes on nuclear weapons and he’d fall asleep.” Maria cradled him to her chest and he yawned. Tony’s tiny fists clenched and unclenched.


	37. Lie After Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark family and Peggy chat.

**Peggy**

“How do they expect me to find volunteers for this program?”

“Don’t fret too much, you’ll get grey hairs,” Maria peeked up from behind her paper. Peggy sipped her tea, it was cooling fast, usually her sign that she and Howard needed to get to work. She had moved into the neighborhood since becoming the founder/co-director of SHIELD, and they usually had breakfast together. Little Tony was three years old that May and as smart as they come.

“What project is this one?” Peggy took another long sip.

“The cryogenically freezing people project,” he paced back and forth.

“Oh, that sounds fun,” she smirked.

“Yes, except it’s top secret so we’d have to erase them from existence...”

“I’d do it,” Peggy said absentmindedly. Se took another sip of her tea, then officially cold.

“...And freeze them alive for about five years at a time,” he finished.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t draft agents...” Peggy said. She had plenty of people she could coerce into being Howard’s guinea pigs. They wouldn’t even need to be coerced. Most of her agents would do it without a second thought.

“Volunteer projects only, Peggy.” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Again, I’d volunteer,” she finished her tea and sat back. The chair creaked in mild protest as their battle of wills continued.

“Preferably without family,” he said.

“My father is dead. I’m not married. I have no family,” she pointed out more casually than she should have.

“You have us,” Maria protested. Peggy swallowed and looked from Maria to Howard and then lingeringly to Tony.

“But you’ll come and check on me, I’d be fine,” she knew she sounded heartless, but maybe that’s how she was supposed to be. She was, afterall, Director Carter. She ruled with an iron fist and a stone heart.

“Is this you volunteering?” Howard asked tentatively.

“Is this you accepting my offer?” Peggy stood so that they were on the same level. She was actually a bit taller than him in her heels.

“On one condition,” he said.

“Yes?” she asked.

“There will be protocol that if SHIELD is in trouble you get woken up,” Howard’s eyes were darkening. His face looked hatefully sad, like he’d rather do anything than freeze his best friend alive.

“Sounds fine to me,” she nodded and held out her hand to shake.

“Wait just a minute, what about Tony?” Maria stood up and smacked Peggy’s hand down. Peggy could feel her face flush and saw Maria’s doing the same damned thing. She knew if Maria didn’t shut up she was going to cry.

“Maria,” she said her friend’s name pleadingly. “He’s not family. I love him dearly, but he’s not...”

“He’s your godson,” she cut Peggy off. She looked outraged, furious, ready to fight.

“Maria...” Howard said softly.

“I’ll write him a letter. It’s not like I’ll be dead.” Peggy reassured her. But her words felt empty. Everything felt empty, devoid of meaning, except Maria’s damn pleading.

“But he’ll miss you,” Maria protested.

“He’s three. It wouldn’t it be better if I left now and didn’t die horribly on some SHIELD mission when he’s ten,” Peggy was on her feet and face to face with Maria, not backing down, not agreeing.

“You cannot possibly think that!” Maria sobbed.

“I do!” Peggy slammed her fist into the table.

“Mama!” a tiny voice chorused over their fight. “I’m hungry!” Tony trotted into the room and then leapt up into his mother’s arms. He climbed her like a little monkey and she wrapped her arms around him protectively.

“Peggy, we should probably head to work,” Howard slid his arms around Maria and gave her a kiss. He ruffled Tony’s hair and grabbed his briefcase. 

“Yes, we should.” Peggy tried hard to ignore the tears in Maria’s eyes.


	38. Execution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan is put into play.

**Peggy**

The plan was in place for her to be “erased”. Three other agents would follow her, but later, a year at least. Howard had given her a hypodermic needle filled with something that would slow down her pulse and make her go cold. She had a gun with a blank full of sheep's blood. He would find her first, cover her in blood and leave without a trace... until someone came in. Then she would be taken to the facility where her freezing would take place. He would do various tests, to be repeated when she was woken. There would be a funeral. She would have her name carved on a gravestone. Her will would be read, her money would be kept in trust for SHIELD. Her father’s land would be looked after until the heir came of age and was revealed. 

That was the plan. It was all set out in front of her. The smooth glass of the syringe. The cold metal of the gun.

“Director Carter,” Agent Sousa wandered into the room. “Is there anything you need?” he smiled at her and she almost wanted to dismiss him, to make him go away.

“Look how far we’ve made it Daniel,” she said. She admired the wall of windows in her office that opened onto the bullpen where agents were bustling about. 

“This is all you, Peggy,” he smiled, adjusting his crutch. “This was all you. You made SHIELD from the ground up.”

“Can you close the blinds for me?” she asked.

“Of course,” he closed them and left, without question. He was so good, so sure, so loyal. She slid the hypodermic needle beneath her skin and picked up the gun, put it to her temple and shot. She could hear Howard slide in and cover her in blood before screaming. He fell to his knees and she could see him, even through the drugs, even through the warm, sticky blood covering her. She could see his distress. Even though he knew.

“What’s wrong?” no matter how horrible Thompson had been to her in the past, she could hear his voice crack and stop when he saw her. “Christ Jesus, why?” She left her eyes open. She could see Jack, hand over his mouth. She could see Daniel, his back to her, body shaking. She could see Howard, crying.

“Is there a note?” one of the young female agents asked timidly.

“Goodbye. I am not leaving for good. I am ingrained in the history of this organization and I hope my mark will remain on it until its fall. You should not take this as a sign of weakness, but as a sign of strength. I was always supposed to be here, but I wanted to see Steve again, Howard. I wanted to see my father and my brother again. It was eating me up inside and I don’t want that to effect SHIELD. Take care of my baby for me, Howard. SHIELD needs you.

Love,

Agent Margaret Carter

PS I've written to to Maria and Angie, Tony and Daniel separately. Please see to it that they get them.”

“Oh, Jesus. Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus,” Daniel chanted before the world went black.


	39. Howard's Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 9 sentences the plan goes horribly wrong, for Peggy at least.

**Peggy**

The space was small, cramped, but that didn’t bother her.  She could hear something outside her tube. Two voices. Howard and Edwin. Howard was talking about pushing the button, she supposed the one that would freeze her instantly.

“Are you sure you recreated the serum correctly?” Edwin was probably wringing his hands. She slammed her palms against the tube and tried to speak when she felt liquid fire racing through her veins, when she felt what Steve described to her...

“I wouldn’t have shot Peggy up with it if I hadn’t.” He turned to the tube and to her. "I wouldn't have done it to her ever if I wasn't absolutely sure, let alone kept doing it" then the world went horribly cold.


	40. Out of Spite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets some news.

**Tony**

The last time he saw his father he screamed at him. His boarding school uniform was crooked. He was thirteen, it was 1960., and he didn’t like boarding school. He liked the Beatles and messing around in his father’s lab and blowing things up. He liked Anna teaching him and Teodora Hungarian and making enormous feasts. He liked running around and scraping his knees and playing soccer, football, with his mother, even though he always lost because she had longer legs and better control of te ball on the slippery grass. He liked Mr. Jarvis teaching him to box.

He hated his father, with a passion. He hated his cold eyes and his dark hair. He hated his incredible calculations. He hated that his father drank, and that he liked when his mother took him to church and they took communion. And he hated that people knew he was Howard Stark’s son. He knew he hated his father’s eyes because they were so much like his. He knew he hated everything about him, until he was gone.

“Tony,” Teodora’s auburn hair curled down past her shoulders in a mess of knots. She was dressed only in her nightgown. She had one hand on the doorframe as if the room was going to move from under her feet if she didn’t hold on. Tony shook his head and peered up at her through the light of her flashlight.

“What?” he stood and ran his fingers through his hair. He warded off the light of the flashlight and squinted at Teodora’s face to see it better. Her freckled nose was wrinkled up like she had been crying. Her tears streamed down her face.

“There’s been a car crash,” she said. Every other word was a sob. “Tony I’m so sorry...” he vomited all over her slippered feet and ran, out and away from the house. He ran from a sobbing Teodora who shed her slippers and followed him out onto the dewy grass. He ran from the room of his father’s where he’d stolen and drunk half a bottle of expensive whiskey out of spite. He ran from the room where where his parents would never sleep again.


	41. Delicate Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy wakes up.

**Peggy**

The lights went on and Peggy opened her eyes. The tube where she’d been for heaven and hell knew how long opened. The lasts words she’d heard Howard Stark say were something to the effect of “by the way I’ve been injecting you with my serum for years, cheers,” before he’d pressed a button and frozen her alive. She was planning to use whatever extra strength the serum gave her to knock him halfway into the next decade when… the face that stood above her was not that of Howard Stark. It was Mr. Jarvis’s face. A little paler, and a little more somber than usual. He had aged, crinkles at the edges of his eyes and delicate lines around his mouth. She wondered if Anna was the same. She wondered if howard was the same.

“Where is he?” Peggy swung out of the coffin-like apparatus that she’d spent so long in and stretched.

“Ms. Carter,” Jarvis touched her arm and she saw the somber look on his face turn like a stormcloud turns to a tornado. His face broke down as easily as a book closes. Tears ran down his cheeks. His mouth opened and tried to say a word. He couldn’t manage it.

Peggy felt her heart stop and she thought the only thing stopping her blood from freezing in her veins was the serum. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and took a long, slow, deep breath, in through her nose.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Jarvis handed her a newspaper and sat down. The headline read, in delicate lines of ink, weighted with the death of two of the people Peggy held most dear, “Howard and Maria Stark Killed in Car Crash”. 

Peggy sank to her knees.


	42. The Black Lace Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony attends his parents' funeral.

**Tony**

“In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen,” Tony stood in front of the grave and watched as they lowered the stone lid slowly onto it.There had been no words for him to say, none of them could come unstuck from the back of his throat. Teodora stood by his side, dressed in black from head to toe, just like he was. He looked down at his shining shoes and hated himself silently for being unable to utter the words he wanted to say.

“Who’s that?” Teodora asked. There was a woman across the way. Her dark hair curled out from underneath her black lace veil. She was taller than Tony, with a few inches of heel besides. She looked familiar, felt familiar, just from the shape of her. he had no doubt she was some kind of beautiful underneath the veil.

“I don’t care,” he said. The words tasted like blood on his tongue. He turned on his heel and left. No one protested, not even a single peep from any of the Jarvises tried to stop him. Not one of his mother or father’s “friends”, made to stop him as he walked faster and faster and then began to run away, away. Until he ran into the woman dressed in the lace veil. “Sorry,” he blubbered, tripping over his shoes in an effort to get out of her way. She didn’t say a word, just smiled sadly at the name on the grave, her red lips curving into a hatefully sad smile. ‘Captain Steven Grant Rogers’ it read in gravely beautiful script etched upon the simple headstone. Tony beat a hasty retreat in the opposite direction until he reached a structure that wasn’t a tomb or an obelisk. It was a restroom. He took the opportunity to smash all the windows and scream as loud as he could.

When he left, she stood outside, ever silent, ever sad, ever vigilant, her red lips still curved into a hatefully sad smile.


	43. Blue Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy wakes once more.

They updated her on protocols. They gave her a rib eye steak and a glass of dry red. And then they froze her again with little ceremony after the funeral. They did it in New York, away from the bustle of the majority of SHIELD’s work. 

Her eyes closed and through silence she slipped into blessed oblivion. Her best friend was dead. There was nothing left for her anymore. Except maybe Tony. He had seen her and maybe what she had seen in his eyes was a flash of recognition, or maybe it was just sunlight glinting off his tears. She hoped to God it was the second. She did not want him to be paranoid for the rest of the foreseeable future.

She didn’t want him to know she was his mother even if he had seen her and did recognize her. It was quite the problem as he was, all too plainly, hers. When Maria was next to him she could have been his mother. Apparently Howard had some sort of type. Broad jaw, dark hair, but there was something unmistakably “Carter” about him. His stocky body could have been Howard’s if he’d been littler, but there was something of an elegance to the way he was, something Howard’s body didn’t have. 

He had her nose. Straight enough from the bridge down and with nostrils that flared just a little too much when they were sad or angry. He was angry, too. Howard’s rage was the pent up frustrated kind. Maria’s anger was almost always quiet, petty even. But Peggy, she was all balled fists and fighting, something she knew about herself all too well. She’d teared up terribly when she’d seen him smash the windows out of the bathroom.

His eyes were Howard’s. She didn’t like to think about that, about Howard’s eyes.

The next time she woke there was smoke billowing around her. There were sounds unlike she had ever heard in her life. They were like arrows being fired past her ears even though there was no visible threat in the smoky room. Outside there was a blue light and then an explosion. Noise like squirrels or dolphin chatter pierced her ears. Then there was gunfire, a sound like a grenade going off. Peggy wrestled free from the straps of her container and coughed.

“Who the hell is in there?” A rhetorical question boomed from behind the door. She saw feet shuffling.

“Don’t shoot out the lock, Barton, I’ve got it,” Peggy groped in the dark for something to fight with. There it was, the gun they left for her. She took it and clicked the safety off. The shuffling outside the door stopped and Peggy took the opportunity to announce herself.

“State your name and intent or I will fire,” she said. Her voice cracked only once.

“S’okay. We’re SHIELD,” the male voice said. The shuffle resumed and the door clicked open. Two figures stood in the doorway, both with weapons drawn.

“What’s going on out there?” She craned her neck around the two of them to see the smoky room outside glowing blue and red with fire and… something else. The two agents in the door were slack-jawed. They were dressed in a rather odd fashion, but then again, this was the future, she was probably as foreign to them as they were to her. The redhead had blood on her brow. The man was sweaty and covered in ash and little scrapes and bruises.

“It’s her,” the woman croaked.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago and I'm seriously editing it as I go, but here goes!


End file.
